Tommies: The British Army in the Trenches

by Rosie Serdiville

  Having seen to his defences, Rawlinson came to the view that the time was perhaps ripe for thinking in more offensive terms. He could not conjure up more men but he could replace flesh and blood that had failed against the terrible killing power of modern weapons with automatic fire and steel plate; more machine guns, more tanks. British artillery performance had improved already in leaps and bounds. Tanks, those great lumbering juggernauts that had rumbled onto the scene in 1916 were, with the new Mark V, substantially improved, faster (or at least less slow) and more reliable.

  The Big Push: Gough, Rawlinson, Haig, Horne and Plumer, The War Illustrated, August 1917. (Author’s collection)

  Heavy bombers had made their appearance and the beginnings of strategic air power which would loom large in the post-war debate were stirring: ‘London Wednesday [1 August 1918] an official report from the RAF independent force in France states that on Monday night our machines attacked the railway stations at Offenburg, Rastaff and Baden. Stuttgart and Solingen were also attacked. Three hostile aerodromes and numerous ground targets were bombed and subjected to machine-gun fire. All our machines returned.’

  In a war marked by filth, squalor, constant attrition and a vast, unceasing haemorrhage, ‘the knights of the air’ seemed, outwardly to represent something more chivalrous, nobler, and more Homeric than mass slaughter on the ground. This was a fiction of course, encouraged by both sides’ propaganda, war in the air was every bit as deadly. In fact, the average life expectancy of a rookie flyer in the war was six weeks, in combat this could easily be measured in minutes.

  A series of generally successful large-scale raids led Rawlinson to believe the time ripe for a wider offensive. The Allied blow would fall along a front from north of the Somme to just south of the Amiens–Villers–Bretonneux road. Rawlinson had long been a believer in ‘bite and hold’. Haig, as ever wanted more and deeper. He would have a significant superiority in terms of tanks, guns and aircraft. The burgeoning role of the latter would be significant. Security was paramount throughout. When the blow fell at dawn on 8 August, the Germans were caught out and seriously savaged. Rawlinson was to say ‘we have given the Germans a pretty good bump this time’. Both the official German history and Ludendorff gloomily concurred. This was indeed ‘the black day’ of a German army that had fought so very hard indeed throughout four years of titanic industrial war.

  The ‘Black Day’ led to the Hundred Days’ Offensive which led inexorably to Germany’s defeat. Victory was bought at enormous cost. British casualties in August 1918 amounted to 80,000. The various attacks of the Hundred Days in all cost 220,000 more. These came from a diminishing stock. Britain was bled dry, as was France and as was Germany. That summer was one of Allied advances and German withdrawals. The latter were never in danger of becoming a rout. Stubborn rearguards, as seen at Buzancy, shielded every backwards step.

  Sergeant McGuffie wins the Victoria Cross

  R. A. Urquhart was conscripted and posted to 5th Battalion, King’s Own Scottish Borderers, in January 1918:

  Our training during this period was mainly drill, physical training and sport, the objective being to smarten us up and make us fit. One item I remember well was jogging around the public park most mornings before breakfast. When May [1918] arrived we were sent to Kelling camp in Norfolk where we joined up with other recruits for another KOSB Battalion. Here, we received our complete training for overseas and met up with the Sandhurst trained platoon officers who brought us to France.

  Arriving in Boulogne at the end of July and billeted in St Martin’s camp, Urquhart read in the Daily Mail of a debate in the House of Commons: ‘One of the Edinburgh MPs, Mr. J. Hogg had stood up in Parliament and accused the PM, Lloyd George, of sending boys under 19 years of age into the front line. This was denied by the PM who also said that any boys under 19 years who were up in the line would be sent down.’ Urquhart found this amusing as he was only 18!

  Like countless thousands of Tommies before them, the Borderers entrained on the unimaginably slow French railways in the familiar cattle trucks and chugged slowly and in near total darkness northwards. Compared to the footslogging ahead, this would almost, and in hindsight, appear luxurious: ‘From that day, I have no recollection of reaching any destination whilst up in the line other than by foot’. They marched from Kemmel to Steenvoorde and then to Hillebroucq.

  Early August and the new recruits found their battalion at Wormhout. Here they were introduced to Sergeant Major (acting) Louis McGuffie. At the venerable age of 25, he seemed to them an aged Olympian; ‘he brought with him our first supply of cigarettes and tobacco’. They moved up closer to the front via Poperinghe and Plotijze. They were assured their first tour ‘would be very quiet’. Perhaps they wondered how many other fresh recruits had received the same bland assurance and how many had in fact been hurled straight into the inferno?

  On arrival I was surprised to see that the trench ran along the boundary of the communal cemetery – situated not far from the Menin Gate. There we were accommodated in dugouts placed between the graves. Since joining the 5th Battalion, the young lads were usually billeted along with an older member of the battalion. On this occasion, I had one by the name of McGregor whose perky sense of humour banished the morbid surroundings of our sleeping accommodation. At dusk we had stand to in the trench where I placed my Lewis Gun on the rampart beside a white wooden cross where Prince Maurice of Battenberg lay buried. He had been a Lieutenant in the KRRC, killed in October 1914.

  At night the skies were brightened and illuminated by German flares and, by day, they had a view of the skeletal carcass of the once-splendid Cloth Hall. ‘A few days before we left the cemetery we were informed that a supply of wines had been brought up from the cellars of Ypres and we were invited to bring our canteens to obtain our share. The connoisseurs amongst us were disappointed when we received our allocation which was Vichy water!’ From the hollow shell of Ypres, the KOSBs moved towards Kemmel:

  As we marched, or should I say trekked, down a road towards the foot of the hill [Mt Kemmel] it became clearer, and we were able to see what was around us. We found ourselves walking on what we thought were discarded greatcoats and tunics. Eventually, we became aware of the situation and realized we were walking over the bodies of French and Germans who had been killed during the fighting earlier in the year. The surface of the road had been flattened by vehicles and in several places only the buttons of the uniforms along with scraps of cloth were visible as if they had been hurriedly buried or just run over and pressed down. Near the end of the road, an arm with a gloved, clenched hand was raised up from the elbow as if giving a signal to halt. It was a ghastly sight.

  Attaining the summit and strung out in a skirmish line, Urquhart was sent on ahead with a small group of officers, over the crest and down the reverse slope ‘like a group of hikers on a morning stroll’. Their stroll was soon halted by sniper fire as they moved towards the position known as Donegal Farm (a particularly ‘hot’ sector): ‘we saw a hedge on the left and ran towards it. It gave us some protection until we reached a cornfield through which we crawled until we arrived at the path through the wood to Donegal Farm. There we found many shall holes. No sooner had we jumped into them than shells began to arrive behind me. On looking back, I saw stretcher-bearers carrying a lad away from a shell hole I had just left.’

  No further movement was worth even contemplating till night. Then, cautiously forward again. One member of Urquhart’s section, blundering about behind searching for lost ammunition, called out his name. This earned both a swift rebuke and a German flare, arcing brilliant in the night sky; ‘so I told him not to move. Fortunately, we were not spotted but I saw we were very close to the German positions’. They crawled forward into a shell hole occupied by one of their own officers and an NCO. Plainly, they could hear German voices. The NCO volunteered to seek reinforcements but returned empty handed. Another English battalion was behind but would not come up without orders from an officer. They wer
e at length relieved and moved back into the line. Though there was no large-scale fighting to begin with, Urquhart remembered:

  The three raids I took part in. the first was uneventful as far as though my section was involved, we did not see anything of the enemy. The second raid was similar, without sight of the Germans but eventful in the sense that an incident took place that I‘ve never been able to understand. Before leaving, we were told that a rum ration would be sent to us. An unusual thing to happen and the only time such an arrangement was ever made before I took part in any action. The rum never arrived, so when I got back, I made enquiries and the explanation was that the two lads carrying the rum were challenged by a German, dropped it and ran off!

  Of these the third was the important one and, on this occasion, it was a ‘sacrifice’ patrol to enable the battalion to take up new positions for the big day. It seemed that the whole platoon was taking part. I had another Lewis-gunner with me and shelled the trench which was divided in two sections. The sergeant told me to remain with him and sent the others to the far section. As soon as they arrived there firing began and our Lewis-gunners went into action. When the German machine-gunners fired we were able to see them and noted their positions at the foot of the ridge.

  As the initial exchange died down the NCO advised Urquhart he was expecting a runner with orders for them to withdraw. This forward position was too exposed and the Germans ahead would very likely soon be reinforced. It was to be hoped the runner would arrive ahead of the enemy reserves:

  This, however did not happen, 2.00 a.m. arrived but no messenger. Sometime after this the Lewis-gunner in the far section resumed firing until his gun jammed. I had to take my gun along. To reach the other section I had to jump a wide gap between the two and, when doing so, I landed among a collection of tin cans. When I jumped back [having swapped the jammed weapon for his own], I managed to avoid the MG rounds that struck as I got across. The firing continued and soon, stick bombs began to fall which made it impossible to remain. The sergeant decided we should get back. When we reached base we were told we would be mentioned in dispatches and that the cooks were preparing for us a very special meal. When it arrived we were unable to enjoy it as it had been sent up in petrol cans! The meal was cold rice pudding, flavoured with petrol.

  On 29 September the Borderers went over the top at Wytschaete, sweeping forwards till halted by a German bunker whose occupants remained in residence. Despite this, a platoon of the Argylls pitched up beside and disputed their right. Sergeant McGuffie cut across the argument by winkling the remaining defenders out with grenades: ‘it was enough; out they came, “Kamerad”’. Their next halt was in a deep shell-hole, where they were ‘pinned down by MG fire coming from farm ruins a few hundred yards to the left. Fortunately, the shell hole was a very deep one which gave us good protection.’ Sergeant McGuffie had acquired a good pair of German officers’ binoculars as booty: ‘“There’s some Boche coming down the road, let them have it!” I got the gun into position and asked for a look through the glasses. I saw a single file of figures at the top of the road, just coming out of the wood. In front was a German but I noticed that the one behind him was British.’ These were now seen to be British POWs with German escorts:

  We both got out of the shell-hole and McGuffie set off towards the gap in the wire. I presumed the prisoners were some of the A&SH – I was hoping they’d break away from their escort. They were about to do so when the Boche at the rear, who had a stick in his hand, touched the Argyll in front of him, indicating he should keep moving.

  I then asked someone to pass me up his rifle. At the same time I said I could do with a bit of company so another lad came up beside me. The German in front took fright and went to his companion when we both raised our rifles. The Argylls then threw themselves on the ground and the Germans ran off towards the road. We fired and they jumped into a small shell hole where they remained until McGuffie reached them.

  It was the Germans’ turn to become prisoners and McGuffie re-distributed the loot from their pockets, much of which was the property of the newly liberated Highlanders. As the sergeant was doling out his gains, the platoon officer found them and advised that, as the company commander was down, he would have to take over, leaving the platoon in Sergeant McGuffie’s capable hands:

  McGuffie took charge at 2.00 p.m. and came back to the shell-hole ‘come on lads, we have to join the rest of the company up the road.’ For ¾ of the way up we had cover from a high embankment on our left which offered us protection from the MG we knew was waiting for us. As soon as we lost that cover and crossed to the other side of the road, the bullets arrived at my feet. After the second burst, McGuffie and the lad in front of me reached the wood and jumped into a trench.

  It was at this point that Urquhart’s luck ran out:

  I was about to follow them when I was hit jumping into the trench. McGuffie came back to me and, handing me some field dressings, told me to dump the Lewis Gun and my equipment and get back to the MO. As I was doing so a Lewis-gunner shouted over to me that it would be safe to do so as he’d finished off the German who’d shot me.

  For his attack on the blockhouse, rescue of the prisoners and assaulting several enemy dugouts, Sergeant Louis McGuffie was awarded the Victoria Cross: ‘McGuffie deserved the VC. It is difficult to get to know officers and NCOs due to the high rate of change. At Wormhout he welcomed me into the battalion and at Quarante Bois he arranged for my departure. I shall always remember his coolness and disregard for the German machine guns when he stood on the edge of the shell-hole.’

  Private Urquhart had his wounds dressed at the ADS, then transported on a stretcher to a base hospital at St. Omer where, after an operation, he was sent on to Boulogne. His wound was a ‘Blighty’ one and he convalesced at Harrogate. He was finally demobbed at Duddington camp near Edinburgh early in 1919. Sergeant McGuffie was killed by a shell on 4 October.

  It was also towards the end of September that Fourth Army crashed through the Hindenburg Line, the seemingly impregnable bastion of German hopes. There were no more storm-troopers left. Ludendorff’s offensives had cost his nation another million men. This was warfare on a scale never before attempted, nor even imagined. The ruin of the Hindenburg Line convinced the ever more pessimistic Ludendorff that this was the end for Germany.

  He was quite right. October brought nothing but endless fresh defeats and costly withdrawals. The Allies, scent of victory now in their nostrils, bore on relentlessly, though at a continuing dreadful cost to both sides. By the start of November the British were back at Mons where, for the BEF, it had all begun over four years previously. At 10.58 on 11 November one Private Price, a Canadian, became the last Allied soldier to die in battle, a mere two minutes before it was all over, one of history’s unenviable footnotes.

  CHAPTER 6

  REMEMBRANCE

  1919

  At every Great War memorial service, the soldier is referred to as though patriotism had been the chief influence that had made him join the army and ultimately die in action. To the ex-serviceman who has had his eyes opened to the lies and deceptions of the Great War, how sad and ignorant it all is, he knows that practically all the pious outpourings over their dead comrades and comrades enemies are based on a false thesis.

  The majority of the rank and file of the ‘Contemptibles’ joined the army for many various reasons other than that of patriotism; unemployment, home troubles and petty evils were the best recruiting sergeants in pre-war days and, when the war came, the spirit of adventure was the main influence, backed by every possible means of enticement and coercion. If the psychology of the un-conscripted Great War British soldier could ever be written, patriotism would be the least of impulses and hard instinct of men of fighting temperament at the top.

  The truth about the non-commissioned soldier, who fought in the Great War, is a thing to be ashamed of, instead of being blessed and glorified as a virtue by those who are far removed from the foul realities of it.

/>   Charles H. Moss, Sergeant 18th (Pals) Battalion DLI (c. 1924)

  WAR CORRESPONDENT PHILIP GIBBS REPORTED IN his bulletin to the North Mail on 12 November 1918: ‘Our troops knew early this morning that the armistice had been signed. I stopped on my way to Mons outside a Brigade HQ, and an officer said ‘hostilities will cease at eleven o’clock.’ Then he added as all men add in their hearts, ‘thank God for that. All the way to Mons there were columns of troops on the march and their bands played ahead of them and almost every man had a flag on his rifle. There were flowers in their caps and in their tunics, red and white chrysanthemums given by crowds of people who cheered them on their way, people who, in many of these villages had been only one day liberated from the German yoke. Our men marched singing with a smiling light in their eyes. They had done their job and it was finished – with the greatest victory in the world.’

  It was a victory, one dearly bought and one which led inexorably to an even worse war within a generation; that this was ‘the war to end all wars’, proved a bitter irony. The harshness of Versailles and Germany’s shame would open the door for Hitler and the Nazis. Tommy would not return to ‘a land fit for heroes’ as he had been promised, instead coming back to poverty, unemployment, hunger and despair. His sons were forced to march again twenty years later.

  Conscientious objectors

  John’s grandfather, James Sadler, was a stone-mason and regular chapel-goer. Though he’d left school when barely into his teens, he had a life-long interest in education as a path to self-knowledge and self-improvement. He was viscerally opposed to war, one of those early members of the Labour party who saw the war as being cynically engineered by the forces of capitalism. He refused to serve when ordered for conscription and wouldn’t accept any compromise. He was imprisoned in Richmond, threatened with the firing squad and, when he went on hunger strike, force fed. His health was adversely affected, ruined and he was only sent home to die. He actually lived until the age of 70, though the scars of this ordeal – torture by modern standards – marked him for life.