Even Mike, who at first seemed more interested in the soap opera playing on the TV in the next room, was drawn in and captivated by the old gentleman’s stories.
“Do you think he’s okay?” Mike asked.
I sat back in my chair, put down my pen and notebook in which I had scribbled pages of notes and took a deep breath. “I’m exhausted just listening to his experiences, he’s reliving them. I’m sure he’s okay. He just needed a nap.”
I continued to look at this ancient piece of living history with a degree of respect that I wouldn’t have believed I possessed. Even though I sorely wanted to awaken him and beg him to continue, I knew that the right thing to do was to let him sleep. What a time for him to nod off and what a remarkable story.
My curiosity was pegged out. So many questions were swirling in my head. Was that really his brother? What happened to all his friends? Had they made it through the battle Somme?”
I had written down as much information as I could and backed it up with three hours of digital recording. But I really needed to do some research and find out more about the Somme offensive.
“Let’s head home Mike, I need to Google some stuff,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m right there with you,” he replied. “I don’t remember anything about World War I.”
It was about two o’clock and I decided to drop about three hours of research into my project and then return for more of Mr. Macdonald’s recollections. I was completely stoked about this project now. History had always been kind of boring to me before, but now that I could put a face to it, now that it had a personal reality, it became poignant and meaningful.
Since Mr. Macdonald had fallen asleep I decided to use the time wisely and find out more about the battle Somme. In an odd way it almost seemed like cheating. You know – reading the ending of the book before you’re there, but the fire was burning and it needed more fuel.
It only took a few minutes to boot up and Google the 36th Ulster, Battle Somme. Just typing in that search string returned more than forty thousand results, so I had to focus my search. I started to visit the top sites and read up on the subject. Most all of them agreed that the success of the 36th Ulster Division was the only success of the first day in that horrid battle.
One letter I found written by a Colonel Blacker to a comrade after the first day of the Somme illustrated how even the most successful battalion took massive losses!
“Dear Fitzgerald It is with a heavy heart I take up my pen to tell of the doings and losses of the Battalion on July 1. After being five days in the trenches during the preliminary bombardment, we came out for two days rest, then went on at midnight on June 30, and took up our positions ready for the assault, which was for 7:30 am, July 1.
The Battalion was on a four company front, each company being in a platoon front, thus being in four waves: two leading waves in (the) front trench line, 3rd wave in (the) communication trench, 4th wave in (the) 2nd line trenches. Order of companies from right to left: A, B, C, D. These dispositions were completed about 3 a.m. We suffered 50 casualties while waiting. The opposing lines were about 400 yards apart, with a ravine some 70 yards wide with steep banks about 20 feet high, about half way. The order was for the leading wave to get within 150 yards from German lines by 7:30 am to be ready to assault the instant our barrage lifted at 7:30 am. To do this the leading waves went over the parapet at 7:10 am, 2nd waves at 7:15 am, 3rd at 7:20 am and the last waves at 7:30 am. Ansor, Atkinson, Johnston C, and Brew were in command respectively and 11 other platoon officers, that was all that were allowed in the actual assault: and about 600 men. Of these Johnston was killed. Atkinson, Townsend, Hollywood, Montgomery, Seggie, Stewart are missing, believed killed. Brew, Gibson, Jackson, Shillington, Andrews, Smith, Barcroft, Capt Ensor are wounded and 516 other ranks are casualties.
The first wave got away without suffering badly, the 2nd wave had many casualties, and the 3rd and 4th waves were mown down by machine gun fire, frontal and enfilade, before they reached the ravine. After the machine gun fire the Germans put a barrage between us and the ravine and few of C and D companies got to the German front line, but a number of A and B companies got through the German line and reached their objectives at Beaucourt Station, past the German 3rd line. Of these none have returned. Owing to the failures of Battalions on our left, they were cut off. The gallant and splendid leading of the officers and the steady advance of men even after their officers were down, was magnificent, and makes me proud indeed to have been associated with such heroes. For four nights after, parties went out and searched for the wounded and brought in several (Ensor and three others on the 4th night), and then we were moved back 12 miles and the Border Regiment continued the search and rescued many of which we owe them deep gratitude. Cather was killed bringing in wounded in daylight, and Menaul slightly wounded. Alas, many of our best have gone and we only marched back 281 strong, including transport. The Battalion in the hour of trial was splendid as I knew it would be, but I am heartbroken. The gallant friends and comrades we shall see no more. So few have come back unwounded it is hard to get any information as to individuals. Of the 48 Lewis Gunners, only 7 are left.
In ‘A’ Company, Sgts More, Whitsitt, Hegan, Kirkwood, McCourt are wounded and Sgt Wilson is missing believed killed. In ‘B’ Company, Sgt porter is killed and Sgts Caulfield, Keith, Barr, Courtney, Johnston wounded. In’C’ Company, Sgts Hobbs and Byans are killed and Sgts Brown, Love missing. In ‘D’ Company, Sgts Mullen, Gordon, Thornberry killed, Sgts Hare, Balmer, Sewell, Hughes wounded and Sgt Bunting missing. McClurg, the Primate’s chauffeur wounded. We want Lewis gunners badly, the Signallers escaped well, we still have over 30 available. Your draft of 53 came last night and I saw them today, very well turned out and good lot.
What can you do further? I fear little - nearly all our bombing teams are gone. We are right back now, not more than 30 miles from Boulogne and are hoping to get drafts and trying to refit and sort things out. Fortunately, the four Company Sgt Majors and four Company Quarter Master Sgts were not allowed over the parapet so the Company Staff is intact. Cather’s loss is a severe one, he was quite wonderful as an Adjutant, but his glorious death and his name has gone in for a posthumous Victoria Cross. He brought in one wounded man from about 150 yards from German wire in daylight! And was killed going out to a wounded man who feebly waved to him on his calling out to see if there were any more near.
There has [sic] been a lot of extravagant words written and published in the Press, which is a great pity. The Division behaved magnificently and the point does not want labouring. Please be careful that this epistle does not get into the Press. I am still dazed at the blow and the prospect in front of us all, but we must not be downcast; and must remember the glorious example of the gallant band who so nobly upheld the honour of the Battalion, and who have died so gloriously, leaving their example to live after them, and to inspire those who are left.
Of the nine Victoria Crosses awarded on that day, six were earned by men of the 36th Ulster.
I then Google searched the 1st Newfoundland Division to see how Mr. Macdonald’s friends made out. The results were not good. This division sustained losses that could only be described as unimaginable.
According to the website “Newfoundland and Labrador Heritage,” approximately eight hundred men made up the Division. At 09:15 their commander made a monumentally fatal judgment call and ordered his men to leave St. John’s supply trench and cross open land to join the battle. Within fifteen minutes the Division was wiped out. Only sixty-eight men made it back for roll call. It seemed inconceivable that so many men perished in such a short time. How many family lineages came to a halt, how many fathers, mothers, wives, and children mourned after that senseless and ill-conceived charge?
Both Mike and I had to stop reading for a while. The incredible losses of one day in a war that lasted four years were staggering. We went downstairs for a beer. Sensing our somber mood, my mom asked if everything was all right.
“I guess that generation never felt it necessary to share the horrors of that war. They simply carried it with them to their graves,” she said.
“That’s what makes this so incredible,” I said. “We are getting the story from someone who lived through it, it’s almost like a sacred moment.”
My mom smiled understandingly. “It really is a window to the past that is closing quickly,” she said. I looked at her and a chill came over me. What if Mr. Macdonald was to die today? The story would go untold. We had to get back to the home.
I put down my unfinished beer. “Let’s go Mike, see you later Mum,” I said and we headed out. “This guy has seen the depths of hell, how could he have carried those memories with him his whole life and remained even remotely normal?” I asked Mike.
“I don’t know. How long do you figure has it been since we left Mr. Macdonald sleeping?”
“About three hours, so I hope he got rested up and feels like continuing.”
Soon we had arrived at the veteran’s home. I parked my sweet old Datsun and we went in.
“Is Mr. Macdonald awake?” I asked the receptionist.
She smiled. “I believe he’s been asking for you. He’s in his room, number 147. His door should be ajar.”
As we approached the room, a voice came through the cracked door. “Well, where have you lads been? Come in, come in. I thought I had bored you both to death with my stories and they had carted you away to the morgue.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Oh, no sir, in fact, we’d love to hear more if you’re up to it,” Mike jumped in.
Mr. Macdonald smiled and winked. “If you listen, I’ll talk. Now, where was I?” His asking, I think, was more of a test than a real question.
“You had just told us about Dan McKee seeing someone he thought was your brother at the hospital,” I said.
“Oh, yes” he said with a sly smile.
5TH CANADIAN STATIONARY HOSPITAL
Sheila looked at Dan, and then back at Bully with a look of disbelief.
“He came in over a year ago with a head injury. A bullet pierced his helmet and lodged in his brain. A convent, unable to help him any further, had passed him along to a clearing station outside Ypres who sent him to us,” she explained. “We had the only surgeon in France capable of operating on such a wound. After the operation, he remained semi-comatose until about a month ago. He became my pet project and I gave him the nickname Bully because the only thing he seemed to be interested in eating was bully beef.”
Dan couldn’t believe the story after thinking that his friend was dead for so long. “How could he get so easily lost in the system?” he asked.
“No cold meat tags,” she said. That’s what we call dog tags. “Ypres was a busy place at the time, he was left for dead and with no identification he became a lost soul. The clearing stations had no time to research a John Doe, especially one whose prognosis was so bleak. He was just another unknown wounded soldier.”
Dan shook his head. “Does he not know who he is?”
“No clue” Sheila said. “I have to get this information into the office so they can notify his family. They must have given up all hope. Dan, you are sure about this, aren’t you? I don’t want to notify the Macdonald family unless you’re absolutely sure.” She looked at Dan searchingly.
“There’s no doubt in my mind, that’s Alan,” he responded turning his wheelchair toward Bully. “Hey Al, come over here,” he called to his old friend.
It was unmistakable to Bully, the large fellow in the wheelchair was talking to him. He began to hobble over using his canes for support.
“I thought you said he had a head wound,” Dan asked Sheila. “What’s with the canes?”
“After a year of immobility, his muscles have atrophied. He almost has to learn to walk all over again,” she said.
Alan approached this big man with obvious caution. “Do we know each other?” he asked sheepishly.
“Friggin’ A we do! You and I have been ice fishing about a hundred times and you were the guy I’d have to look out for in the rugger scrum, you friggin’ farmer!” Dan said, smiling warmly.
There was something about this big fellow –- his voice, his smile, the “friggin’ farmer” crack – it all seemed to be somehow familiar, but the picture was unclear.
“Your little brother is sure going to be excited to have his brother, Al, back,” Dan continued.
“My little brother?” Alan asked, unsure.
“Yea, Ian the bagpiper, you know,” Dan said.
Alan stared down at the ground looking at nothing. He shook his head and tried to rattle some of the beans into place, but to no avail. His eyes then came up to Dan’s with an expression of frustration and fear.
“I don’t know...I can’t remember,” his voice broke.
Dan could see that his old friend from Wolfe Island had no recollection of his past. “Don’t worry, pal, I’ll work with you,” he said. “I have a lot of time on my hands and we can use it to catch up. “Deal?”
Alan licked his lips, a nervous gesture, and gave Dan an appreciative, but weak smile. “Deal.”
The morning sun was now warming the courtyard as the two old friends were getting reacquainted. Sheila excused herself and went to report Alan Macdonald’s rebirth to her superiors. Then, without warning, the building shook and they all felt a wave of compression followed by the sensation of the air being sucked away.
The leaves on the trees shook as if a huge blast of wind had just blown by. Then came the huge sound of explosion. It was monstrous, beyond anything they had experienced at the hospital.
“Oh, my God!” Sheila screamed, running back to Dan and Alan. “Are they shelling us?”
Dan suddenly realized what it might be. “What day is it?” He asked.
“Monday.”
“Monday what?” Dan demanded.
“The first of July,” Sheila said nervously. “Why?”
He looked at his wristwatch. “Oh, Lord, it’s begun,” he said in a solemn voice.
“What? What’s begun?” Sheila asked, regaining her composure.
“It’s the Big Push. Those were the land mines,” Dan said.
A series of explosions followed in rapid succession, none so powerful as the first, but massive nonetheless. The first was the Hawthorne Ridge mine, which was later reported being heard all the way in London.
“It looks like we’ll be seeing some increase in wounded,” Sheila commented.
“I’m afraid you’ll be seeing a lot more than just an increase,” Dan said. “I was wounded coming back from a night reconnaissance mission and I can tell you that the German entanglement trench is completely untouched. Those boys will be charging into a shooting gallery where they will be the targets and those Maxim machine guns make killing easy.”
Dan’s comment stunned both Sheila and Alan.
“But, I thought the artillery bombardment was supposed to destroy the barbed wire and drive the Germans out of their trenches,” Sheila said, realizing the failure of the British guns and what was to come next.
Dan shook his head.
“Oh, God no, they’ll be slaughtered!” she said.
Alan, who had no knowledge of the Somme offensive, was somewhat lost. “Who – the Germans? They’ll be slaughtered?”
“No, our kids,” Sheila said, sympathetic to his confusion.
Alan grabbed Dan’s robe by the shoulders. “My brother – is he among those boys going to their deaths?” he asked desperately.
“Yes, Alan, I’m afraid Ian is among them,” Dan answered solemnly, not daring to look into Alan’s eyes.
Alan sank down onto a nearby bench and cradled his face between his hands. “He may die never knowing that his brother is still alive and I may never see his face, a face I still can’t even picture. I hate this war.”
PART EIGHT
; THE TIME HAS COME
“Ocean Villas” 1st Newfoundland Division
George and Terry were concerned about their friend Dan. He had been taken away before they had a chance to see him, and they had to rely on reports and information from strangers as to his whereabouts and condition.
The Division had moved even closer to the front and they were looking for a place to billet for several nights. The beautiful rolling hills and unending fields of the Picardie region of France had been transformed into a bleak and broken countryside. The choices for places to stay were limited to half destroyed farmhouses, barns, or tents. The boys were leaning toward barns.
One of the Newfoundlanders told them to head up the St. Johns road about half a mile where they could stay at the “Ocean Villas.”
George looked at Terry. “That’s ridiculous we’re nowhere near the ocean.” Several of the Newfs burst out laughing. They explained that when the Tommies first showed up in the little town of Auchonvillers they couldn’t properly pronounce the name so they instead called it Ocean Villas, and the name stuck among the P.B.I.
“Let’s go take a look,” Terry said. The two lads went in search of their lodging.
As they entered the badly damaged village they noticed a farm with several barns still standing. The barns were brick and slate and all but one seemed in good condition. The largest was demolished and seemed to have had the main house attached. A pile of rubble was all that was left of the once beautiful home.
Oddly, there seemed to be an unusual amount of activity around the pile of debris. Men were coming and going through trenches carved into the earth, lined with sand bags and covered over with a corrugated metal top. The boys were drawn by the mystery and went in for a closer look.
“What’s all the fuss about?” Terry asked one fellow as he came out of the shallow trench.
The Last Lady from Hell Page 23
