B00D2VJZ4G EBOK (22 page)

A full-strength brigade went in. About a week later they came down again, not much more than the strength of a battalion. They were ragged, muddy, unshaven, the remnants of a glorious attack that had taken a few more yards of that contested bit of muddy, pock-holed earth.

For the only time in my experience I saw a whole camp of Tommies turn out to cheer others returning from a line they themselves were bound for. As that draggled little mob slithered down the road to their rest they were cheered every bit of the way. One of them turned a haggard face to the door of a hut where a group of the others were cheering. ‘You won’t blasted well cheer when you gets up there, mate,’ he said grimly.

The same night we went ‘up there.’ We went in little groups of five, with intervals of more than 100 yards between each two. The Menin road was a river of mud in which our boots sucked and slipped. Down one side of it came horses, limbers, wagons, ambulance cars, guns – all at full speed. The horses seemed to know they were coming from danger; their hoofs thrashed the mud about us as they flew down to the rear, their drivers sitting stolidly, using the whip now and then, and smoking as they drove. There were no restrictions needed there. Up the other side the road a slow procession of vehicles crawled, one behind the other: new guns going up to the positions, ammunition wagons full of shells, ambulances bound for the clearing stations, ration carts for the troops in the line. Piccadilly could not have been more crowded, and over all these the German shells moaned and whined. Now and then a cart would have to pull round a heap of wreckage that had once been men, horses, and wagons. By the side of the road lay the stiffening carcasses of horses and mules, and around, on every hand; the big guns crashed.

On three sides was the arching Salient, marked out as though on a mighty map by the ring of flaming flashes from the German guns. A peninsula of death and terror. As we drew nearer to the Ridge, the howling in the sky grew more fierce. We had to pause while a shell dropped before us; rush on as one hurled down almost on top of us; dive for cover in the slimy ditch. All along the road were the skeletons of shattered trees; some shivered off at the base of the bole, others with a grotesque branch left; and over all was the livid light of the gun-flashes, which rose and fell like a fiery, ceaseless tide.

By Cambridge Road we were halted. Here were the field-guns, wheel to wheel, the guns which provided the barrage fire – behind which flaming wall all advances were now made. The gunners were working stripped almost to the waist. The pound and crash of the noisy little guns was terrific, deafening. If a gun failed or was knocked out another was soon in its place.

Mud and slime; a night in a shell hole that was little better than a hollow of ooze. There were no proper shell holes, no communication trenches. All around was the most desolate landscape of shell-harrowed land. Shell hole merged with shell hole; many were death traps in which the wounded slipped and died. The only safe approaches to the line were over the duckboard tracks thrown over the mud loosely, which were trodden in and replaced often. Up these we had slipped and stumbled, while shells burst and smothered us with slimy liquid. I think we almost prayed for the attack and the consequent death, wound, or relief. It came on the zero hour with a crash of artillery fire that I heard as a stretcher bore me down to the dressing station. Within two hours I was lying between blankets, somewhere behind Ypres, in a large, comfortable marquee.

All I remember is pain and then dullness. I recollect lying in a huge corrugated-iron elephant-hut, where four doctors, stripped to their trouser-tops, worked like butchers on mangled men; the sweat streaming from them as they amputated some hopelessly shell-shattered limb; and, as fast as they worked, the ambulances rolled up that shelled road for their loads. I remember being jolted up and down on the stretcher to which I was strapped, hearing shells rushing over, and then the smoothness of a quiet road after the shell-torn
pavé
of Ypres.

P. Hoole Jackson joined the 6th Battalion Manchester Regt. (T.F.) in September 1914. Served in the Dardanelles campaign as a private soldier from May until October 1915. Invalided to Malta with slight wound and dysentery. 2nd Eastern General Hospital, Brighton, from November until January 1916. Rejoined Division in Egypt in May 1916. Served in the Sinai campaign as private soldier and scout. Took part in battle of Romani, when the Turkish second attempt on the Suez Canal was defeated with heavy loss to the enemy. Forced marches and desert fighting. In February sent to France. Served as scout to the brigade. Wounded and gassed in the Battle of Ypres of September to October 1917. Returned to battalion and served again as sniper and scout. Granted commission as second lieutenant in 1918, and attached to the Lancashire Fusiliers
.

I had not been in France more than a few weeks before I was detailed off with a permanent working party. My friend H. was also put into this section, and our acquaintance soon developed into the richest friendship. We were constantly together until he met his death.

About a dozen of us were eventually attached to the Royal Engineers’ trench store dumps. Our activities began at Fresnoy. For the next three months we were kept fully occupied. No short time on this job! For the whole period I was there, I had only one half-day holiday.

It was easy to see where the money was going and why we were spending so many millions a day. The amount of hurdles, duckboards, barbed wire, etc., we turned out of that dump was enormous. I remember asking Sergeant M. how much we went through in a week, and he put the sum at £30,000.

Taken on the whole, my sojourn at this ‘park’ was fairly pleasant. I had a good billet, good food, and some good friends.

Orders at last arrived that we had to leave this place and take over a dump right on the Belgian coast. We soon realized the difference between Le Fresnoy and Nieuport-Baines. Instead of being able to work in the daytime, we had now to rush things through at night.

Well do I remember one incident which occurred shortly after we had taken over. My duty was to get materials ready for the troops in the trenches. A runner would be sent from the trenches with a chit for duckboards, hurdles, barbed wire, etc. This particular afternoon an orderly had brought a chit asking for a certain number of feet of timber 7 inches by 2l inches to be called for later, and I set out to get it ready for the fatigue party, which would call for it at night. This timber was kept in one of the shell-shattered villas on the front, in what had formerly been a bedroom. I measured the timber and instead of carrying the lengths down the stairs, I thought it would be easier to throw it out of the bedroom window. After sending three or four lengths out, and just as I was in the act of throwing another, I was almost blinded by a blast of lightning. I knew it was the bursting of a shell.

I had often heard it said that the shell which was meant for you always went about it quietly.

As soon as I was able to pick myself up I rushed from that unhealthy place like one possessed, and never stopped until I reached the safety of the subterranean passage running through the cellars of the house. I was certain that Jerry would follow the first up with another, but he did not.

When I was able to take my bearings, I noticed a man running towards me who seemed to be saying something, for his lips were moving as if in speech, but I could not hear a sound.

The explosion had deafened me.

‘Cannot hear,’ I said.

He came towards me, making a megaphone of his hands, and shouted, ‘I thought of picking you up in bits.’

‘Not yet,’ said I; ‘but it’s been a near thing.’

We went out together and found the nose-cap of the shell on the ground underneath the window. I went back to the sergeant and reported the incident, still trembling through the shock, and he advised me to rest a few minutes and then carry on. I carried on.

It was the intention to make a big advance here, and if possible to drive the German Army out of Ostend. The enemy was not asleep, however, and just as we had got everything ready for the push, he opened out with a vengeance.

I shall never forget that terrific bombardment. I never experienced anything like it before or since. The shells were flying in all directions, heavies, lights, high explosives, armour-piercing shells of all calibres, some whistling overhead, to burst as far away as La Panne, others dropping in the village with a roar that shook the foundations of the earth.

Our only refuge was our billet, a most horrible and loathsome place – a cellar alive with cockroaches and other vermin. And there we were, cooped up like rats in a trap, waiting for we knew not what.

Hour after hour the awful bombardment raged. To venture out was certain death, for the enemy aircraft were dropping bombs and training their machine guns on to the cellars. And we were without ammunition.

Evening came, and still the shells were dropping as fiercely as ever. Midnight arrived without the slightest cessation in his devilish artillery fire. The cry rang out, ‘Will it never end?’ One soldier cried ‘Can’t we run for it?’

‘Where can we run to?’ asked Sergeant M. ‘There must be no running or moving until we receive orders to that effect’ – a thing that was impossible, for we learnt afterwards that all lines of communication had been cut.

The tempest raged all through the night. No one slept; every man was waiting to be captured or slaughtered by the foe. The enemy now changed his tactics, and, in place of his high explosives, he turned upon us his new and diabolical mustard gas. The order went through the dungeons, ‘Gas! All men put on your masks.’ For four hours we had to keep them on.

As day was beginning to dawn, the twenty-four hours’ awful tornado ceased. What a transformation met my eyes when I went out for a breath of air. Houses, theatre, Casino, the Church were levelled to the ground. During the day we learnt that two thousand of our lads had been slaughtered or taken prisoners. In fact, every soldier on the other side of the Yser Canal, excepting one or two, was rendered
hors de combat
.

The result of Jerry’s attack drove us out of the village, and we attempted to establish a dump at Laitre Royale.

Every night a train of five trucks, loaded up with trees, pit-props, hurdles, elephant shelters, etc., came to the dump.

It was whilst engaged on the task of unloading the train that I lost my pal H. We were carrying the pickets, etc., into the dump, a matter of some 20 or 30 yards, and were making good progress with the work, for so far there had been little shelling. We were congratulating ourselves that we were going to have a quiet night when Jerry opened out.

I heard a shell coming, and before I had time to fall, the shell burst with a terrifying crash. The concussion sent me headlong over the rails. In an instant I was on my feet, and rushed off to the gable end of Laitre Royale for cover. When I got there I found that H. and a few more of the working party were already there.

The shelling soon became violent, and it was obvious that Jerry was after the dump.. for the shells were gradually closing in upon us.

I turned to H. and told him that I was going to make for the covered communication trench, which was about 100 yards away, as I thought it would be safer there than where we were.

‘I think we are better here,’ said H. ‘He will have to blow this house over before he can get us.’

‘If you think you are safer here you had better stay, but I’m off for the tunnel,’ and, after waiting until the next shell burst, I made for the trench. I had just got about a third of the way when I heard another shell coming which exploded some yards distant. I flung myself to the ground before it burst. Thinking I might gain the trench before another arrived, I picked myself up and made a spurt, but before I reached that harbour of refuge, another was on me, and such was the effect of the concussion that it lifted me clean off my feet and pitched me over a stack of wire some 3 feet from the ground. I again attempted to reach the tunnel, when I heard H. calling me.

Retracing my steps, I found my friend lying on the ground in great pain.

‘What’s the matter, H.?’ I enquired.

‘The square-headed b – has got me this time, George.’

‘Where are you hit?’

‘Right in my back.’

‘Do you think you can manage to get to the trench if I help you?’

‘I’ll try, George.’

Stooping down, I put his arm round my neck and assisted him into the trench. How we got there I never knew, for the shelling became intense, and the shells dropped round us like hailstones. Having got him under some semblance of cover, I asked him how he felt.

‘George, I am done.’

I tried to’ comfort him by telling him they would soon put him right when he got to hospital.

‘No, Jerry’s done me this time.’

Stretching out his hand and placing it into mine, he said, ‘George, you have been the best pal I’ve had. I want you to write to my wife and mother and tell them that I died doing my duty.’

‘No, no,’ said I. ‘But I’ll write and tell them that you are wounded and that you are in hospital.’

‘But what’s your address?’ I asked him.

He motioned to me to feel in his tunic pocket. I did so and took some of the letters he had there.

I could see that he was mortally wounded. Every time he spoke blood spurted out of his mouth.

‘One more thing I want you to do for me,’ he said.

‘What’s that, H.?’

‘Pray for me now.’

‘I am not much used to praying, H.,’ I replied, ‘but I’ll do my best.’

I knelt down and offered up a simple prayer, and I was conscious that the prayer was received. My friend again seized my hand and thanked and blessed me. The stretcher bearers arrived, placed him upon it, took him to the dressing station, and I saw him no more.

After three months there, with never a rest, I was ordered to rejoin my battalion, which was about to go over at Passchendaele.

When I reported to the sergeant-major, he said, ‘You’ll see some
soldiering
now.’ I smiled, for I considered I had received my baptism of fire.