Chapter 8 Baptised in warfare

1915

Jack and his Company were ferried across the English Channel to France on 24th February, the date they formally joined the regimental army as part of the 1/6^th King’s Liverpool Regiment, and Jack in the role of Company Range Finder. A train took them to Bailleul, in not first or even third class, but in cattle trucks, forty men per truck, covered, but with no seating accommodation, so they lay partially on top of one another on the floor. They billeted in a nunnery in a sealed part of which the nuns were still in occupation. It was a wintry night and in the morning Jack had his first experience of breaking the ice to wash and shave. Amongst the men there was suppressed excitement, mixed with a peculiar restlessness close to fear. They had now entered the theatre of war.

After a minimal breakfast Jack was called in to the Sergeant Major’s quarters. On entering Jack saluted, “You called for me, Sir.”

“Yes, come in and take a seat. We’ve had reports on your good conduct, especially the way you motivate and look after your men. We’re making you Corporal and you’re being transferred to ‘D’ Company. Any questions?”

“No questions, Sir. Thank you, Sir”, Jack replied. He was pleased with the promotion in rank but sorry to change Company, leaving his mates behind.

On 4^th March, Jack and other men were handed over. Their Commanding Officer handing the men over to ‘D’ Company wrote a note saying, “They have invariably done their duty in a thoroughly soldier-like fashion, and I feel confident that, wherever they go, they will maintain the good reputation which they have quickly earned in the field and during their Territorial training in England.”

‘D’ Company went straight up into the famous Ypres salient. The town of Ypres was a ruin after being hit by deluges of German shells.

Jack noted in his diary, “The German artillery was very active with frequent salvos of ‘whiz-bangs’, fifteen pounders and ‘Big Berthas’, which sailed over us like distant express trains, dropping into Ypres. The only reply from our guns was a single salvo of fifteen pounders at dusk each evening. This paltry reply made us feel naked, and the disparity seemed ominous.”

As a Corporal, Jack had three Sections of 8 men and a signaller under his wing. They were billeted in cellars of unoccupied houses in the narrow streets of Ypres, and their first task was to reconnoitre around town to find their way about, and organise food.

To Jack’s surprise, a letter from home arrived — it had caught him up quickly.

“Dearest Jack,

“Many thanks for your letter which we received two weeks after you posted it. You have given us a descriptive account of your journey to France. We’re happy knowing you are well, well fed and enjoy views of the countryside as you march. You must be well-trained by now.

“Our news is that Annie and George married in St Bridget’s on 3^rd April. It was a lovely day. Annie shone in her wedding-dress with white roses in the bouquet and across the front of her veil. The vicar gave a divine sermon and asked us to pray for the safety of those now fighting for our country, and, of course, I prayed for you. It was a pity you could not be here. Perhaps you remember this was the church where your father did some of the wood-carving for the pulpit.

“We are all well. Joe is doing well at school and thinks he wants to be a motor mechanic. That’s certainly the job of the future. Mabel and Mary are busier than ever at work because so many men have been called up, and they feel they’re doing their best for the country by stepping up to what’s needed. Your father goes to his work at the cathedral and that’s a useful distraction from his anger about the war, as you can imagine.

“Please look after yourself. We’ve heard that the last of the French Reserves were sent to the front and that young, raw recruits have been called up. They will be glad of help from the British troops. 

“All of us send our love and affections, Mother XX”

Reading the letter gave Jack a feeling of inner warmth — a great contrast to the grim conditions he was now in.

 To break ‘D’ Company in to the conditions of war, the 1^st Battalion ‘fathered’ over them and the Colonel ordered them to make nightly forays carrying rations, sandbags, and ammunition up to the frontline trenches. After managing to get a little sleep during the day, Jack found time to write about the forays in his diary. “How we trudged across country, in the pitch dark, in all the worst weather conditions winter could provide. In addition to our load, we had our pack, a goatskin coat and rifle, as we slipped and slithered in the mud, passing dead animals and men (chiefly Frenchmen) that stunk to ‘high heaven‘. “Dead cow on the left” or “Dead horse on the right” were messages passed down in the stygian darkness for the holding of noses or breath – if possible. We ran the gauntlet of ‘whiz-bang’ shells, rifle and machine-gun fire and ricochets which sang and whined as they passed by, or until they plopped into the mud.”

This went on for two weeks. Their initiation over, they went up into the front line to stay. An enemy attack was threatened and they moved into trenches on the Yser canal — on the right of Hill 60. They spent nights making a show of strength, by firing over the trench parapet, 10 rounds of rapid fire at certain intervals, bringing German retaliation of artillery and machine gun fire.

Jack recorded his feelings, “I will never forget those first nights in the trenches. Expecting a German attack; the ominous feeling of impending tragedy; the knowledge of our weakness of forces; the excitement of the rapid fire periods; our first experience of direct enemy fire; the almost unbearable cold; all these made our ‘baptism’ a memorable experience.”

At one point Jack’s pal was hit. The Lieutenant instructed Jack to help his pal to the dressing station in Bleauport Farm. The next day Jack described how the horrific event took place.

“The command to go to Bleauport Farm shook me, as the day before, I had observed that it was under continuous heavy shell fire of salvos at regular intervals of about one a minute. My pal and I made our way slowly down the little valley, through the wood, across a ploughed field to the farm gate. The salvos were still falling. Getting as near as we dared we waited for a salvo and then made a dash for it as quick as a wounded man could.”

“On reaching the farmhouse, we turned in at the first doorway (minus door), and saw a shambles of a bare room open to the skies above except for one far corner, where a small remnant of ceiling provided a little cover. Here, seated at a table, was a signaller, calmly working his set. He directed us to the dressing station in the cellar, down the steps of which we just dived in time as the next salvo arrived. I handed over my charge and was about to leave, when one of the Medical Corps said, “Wait a minute. I think we’ve got one of your chaps here, perhaps you can recognise him”. He led me down a damp, dark narrow cellar, where on the floor lay a row of figures covered with blankets. He raised the blanket from the head of the last one saying “Know him?” He was one of ours, our first casualty, Captain Montgomery, a much-liked officer. He was dead. It was a row of dead men. I was stunned, shocked. I saw myself lying there — this was to be my fate!”

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