The advancing Germans take cover on the other side of the road, only making occasional forays forwards.
‘How many rounds ’ave yer got off, Mo?’
‘Lost count, but enough fuckin’ lead to cover a church roof.’
‘My barrel’s as hot as a poker. I’d like to ram it up the arse’ole of that Hun machine-gunner over there. I’ve been tryin’ to plug ’im for twenty minutes, but I can’t getta bead on ’im.’
A minute or so later, Harry exclaims and throws his cap in the air.
‘Got the cunt! What a fuckin’ shot; took ’is fuckin’ pickle helmet right orf. It must be six hundred yards.’
Maurice is impressed. He retrieves Harry’s cap and throws it at him.
‘Put it back on, yer daft bugger. I’ll give you four hundred yards, no more. But not a bad shot, I’ll grant yer that.’
Artillery shells are still falling all around them, sending huge tremors through the ground. Most men are covered in soil or the blood of their comrades. The German machine guns are relentless, as is the rifle fire from their infantry. The enemy is finding secure positions from which to fire, producing a stalemate. The continuous noise is overwhelming, making most men feel disorientated.
Bullets make many different noises when they hit home. Some ‘ping’ when they strike stone or metal, others ‘thud’ into soft ground, but when they hit men they produce more sickening sounds: the ‘splash’ of hot metal tearing into flesh, the ‘spray’ of blood that the impact produces and, finally, the tormented scream of the victim.
To live through the sights and sounds of war is to become what is called ‘battle-hardened’. Some men survive the experience, some men are devastated by it, but no one is ever the same again.
The British and French line at Le Cateau is over ten miles long and is being breached in places, especially where it is receiving machine-gun fire from its flanks.
By two o’clock in the afternoon, Harry and Maurice can see that several sections of the British line are in retreat. Of the eight men they brought, in addition to the stricken John Savage, two more men have been killed and two have been wounded.
Word is passed along the line: ‘A tactical withdrawal in fifteen minutes.’
‘So we’re orf, ’Arry.’
‘Scarperin’ again. I thought the British Army didn’t do that kinda thing; certainly not twice in three days!’
‘I think we might ’ave to get used to it. We could be doin’ it all the way to the fuckin’ Channel at this rate.’
Although the British position is crumbling, Smith-Dorrien’s decision to stand and fight at Le Cateau proves to be a masterstroke. Having seen him hold his ground, and after witnessing the quality of British musketry, the German High Command hesitates, giving the BEF a vital few days of grace to regroup and allowing the French to organize courageous counter-attacks. For the 4th Battalion Royal Fusiliers, it means many more hours of marching, but they have bought themselves some valuable breathing space.
The initial casualty figures from France are a shock to the nation. Large numbers of war dead have not been a familiar phenomenon for the British people in modern times. During the two and a half years of the Boer War, some twelve years earlier, Britain suffered almost 21,000 men killed, missing or dead from disease. So far, in just three days of fighting in France and Belgium, more than 1,600 have been killed at Mons, 5,000 at Le Cateau and another 500 in peripheral fighting. Another 2,500 men have been taken prisoner.
The Times’s report of the events is sobering: ‘The battle is joined and has so far gone ill for the Allies. Yesterday was a day of bad news and we fear more must follow.’ Although British numbers are significantly smaller than French and German figures, they create alarm at home, but also indignation, which strengthens the mood of patriotism, swelling yet more the numbers of those flocking to army recruiting stations.
Part Four: September
YOUR KING AND COUNTRY NEED YOU
Tuesday 1 September
War Office, Whitehall, London
Winston and Lord Kitchener are having a private dinner in the War Office. Kitchener has ordered food from the ministry’s excellent kitchen and Winston has brought some claret from his stock at the Admiralty, plus an almost full bottle of Hine, his favourite cognac. The First Lord’s contribution to the feast reminds Kitchener of one of Winston’s increasingly well-known sayings, his four ‘Essentials of Life’: hot baths, cold champagne, new peas and old brandy.
Winston is keen to hear more about a message that has arrived from Sir John French, outlining his decision to pull the BEF back to the west of Paris and thus leaving it to the French to be solely responsible for the defence of their capital city.
‘It seems foolhardy in the extreme. What are his reasons?’
Kitchener shakes his head in exasperation.
‘He doesn’t think he has enough men, armour and supplies – which he hasn’t, of course. But he’s known that all along. He was sent to make a fist of what he’d got, not to come crying as soon as we suffer a reverse. Thank God, Smith-Dorrien made a stand at Le Cateau, otherwise we would have been completely swamped.’
‘What will you do now?’
‘The French PM has been on to Asquith; he wants to know where we stand. The PM’s adamant, we’re holding our ground. So I’m off to Paris first thing for another encounter with our French, which I’m not looking forward to; he’s such a cantankerous customer.’
Winston has every sympathy for Kitchener, a fine soldier, but who has been asked to sit in a politician’s chair.
‘I saw the note from our ambassador in Paris.’
Kitchener shakes his head.
‘I know, hundreds of thousands streaming out of the city, and makeshift barricades being built. It doesn’t sound too promising.’
‘Have another cognac, K.’
‘I think I will. I hear the French government is off to Bordeaux tomorrow – no shortage of cognac there, what?’
‘Quite, but I like the sound of the new military governor of Paris, General Gallieni. He said yesterday that his orders were to defend Paris and that he would do so until the very end. That’s the spirit! Our French comrades need to gird themselves with the spirit of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard refusing to surrender at Waterloo.’
‘You’re such a romantic, Winston, but I agree, a bit of French elan would make all the difference. It’s their bloody country, after all. You’re fond of them; have they got the stomach for it?’
‘I am very fond of them. The Napoleonic esprit de corps is still there, and I’m sure they have the bottom. They’ll pull through.’
‘Our boys don’t have a lot of time for them.’
‘Yes, but our men are professional soldiers, whereas most of theirs are conscripts – peasants and factory fodder. They’re republicans and I’m avowedly a monarchist, but they revere their liberté, égalité, fraternité. Now that the very existence of their great republic is at stake, they’ll fight.’
‘By God, I hope you’re right, because tomorrow evening I’ll be telling John French to hold his ground. And put in peril the lives of a hundred thousand British troops.’
The next morning, as Kitchener makes his way to France, Winston, speaking for both the navy and the army, addresses the Cabinet concerning the latest situation in France and elsewhere.
It has been a difficult meeting. Lloyd George’s summary of the current economic situation, although painting a much less gloomy picture than the previous week, has unnerved many members, especially those with domestic portfolios. Unlike most in the Cabinet, Winston gets to his feet, as usual, before speaking, confirming the impression his detractors have of him, that he is a ‘dangerous young windbag’.
‘Prime Minister, gentlemen, let me address, first of all, the latest news from France as of this morning. We have reached a moment of relative calm. In close liaison with General Lanrezac’s 5th Army, the BEF is moving back to regroup and find a stronger defensive position. Significantly, following G
eneral Smith-Dorrien’s inspired holding action at Le Cateau, Lanrezac struck a major blow three days ago with a ferocious counter-attack, forcing the German 2nd Army to deflect its advance towards Paris. The momentum the Germans have enjoyed for many days has been halted.’
Winston is suddenly interrupted by Reginald McKenna, British Home Secretary.
‘Mr Churchill, I am sure you saw the distressing article in the special edition of The Times on Sunday, in which Arthur Moore reported on the wretched condition of our men after Mons. He wrote of “broken regiments”, “men scattered across swathes of countryside”, “battered by marching”.
‘Now, I am the last person to question a man like yourself, who has such a shrewd grasp of military matters, but if the situation is “calm”, as you maintain, why has Sir John French said he wants to pull back the BEF to the west of Paris? And why is he talking about fortifying Le Havre, in order to be able to get our boys home safely … ?’ McKenna pauses for effect, looking at several Cabinet colleagues as he does so, before continuing smugly, ‘Which – dare I say it? – is where they belong.’
Winston tries to hide his annoyance.
‘Mr McKenna, forgive me, but this is not the time for scoring debating points. Lord Kitchener is seeing John French tonight to reiterate his position, the Prime Minister’s position and my position, which is that, having made a tactical withdrawal, we will now, with our French comrades, make a stand, east of Paris – not to the west – to halt the German onslaught.’
Winston catches the Prime Minister’s eye. Asquith nods approvingly.
‘I should add some more detail to put the current situation into sharp perspective. The position is extremely grave; it has been from the moment war was declared. Sir John is under great strain, as are we all. The elite of the French officer corps is being cut to ribbons. General Foch, Commander of the French XX Corps, has lost his only son and his son-in-law. French losses are in the tens of thousands. The Germans are within touching distance of Paris; vast columns of people are streaming west, and the government is about to transfer to Bordeaux. On the Eastern Front, news is coming in of a catastrophic defeat for the Russians in East Prussia. Initial reports suggest losses approaching one hundred thousand men, leaving Germany’s generals, Ludendorff and Hindenburg, a free run through Poland.’
Winston is in his element. He appears to be making McKenna’s case for him, but his voice rises. Asquith smiles to himself; he knows his First Lord of the Admiralty well, and can guess what is coming next.
‘But only last Friday, ships of our Grand Fleet gave the Kaiser a black eye off the Heligoland Bight, sending three of his cruisers to the bottom: the Mainz, Cöln and Ariadne. We know that he has already issued orders for his High Seas Fleet to remain skulking in its harbours until further notice. Not only that, General Smith-Dorrien’s masterstroke has bought us vital time to regroup. Our army in France is but a welterweight, and we have stepped into the ring with a cruiserweight who has knocked us on to our backside at Mons.’
Winston’s voice rises another notch.
‘But this is only round one. We have absolutely no intention of throwing in the towel so early in the fight, especially as Lord Kitchener is building a new army, the like of which we have never seen before. It will be a true heavyweight to match our magnificent navy. The last thing we need now is to be casting doubt on our military capabilities – especially not in this room, of all places.’
Undaunted by Winston’s eloquence, Charles Hobhouse, Postmaster General, asks Asquith if he may make a comment. The Prime Minister, reluctantly, signals his approval.
‘Mr Churchill, I have a little army experience myself, with the 60th Rifles. There are many in military circles who agree with Sir John French and my friend Reggie McKenna that the army should be on the Kent side of the Channel, ready to defend our island, rather than have them spill their blood in a lost cause trying to prop up the soft-bellied French.’
Winston is incensed.
‘Prime Minister, forgive me for being blunt, but I must say this to my Cabinet colleague. There is only one “military circle” that makes any difference here and it is scribed by a small but resolute arc containing only the Prime Minister, his Minister for War, Lord Kitchener, and your humble servant, the First Lord of the Admiralty. There is no other “military circle” of any consequence to the war effort. Indeed, ours is a triumvirate, not a circle; it is a triangle of iron will which is unbending, unwavering and untiring.’
Asquith’s smile becomes a visible one. Winston’s supporters in the Cabinet also smile; some, like Lloyd George, have a hint of moisture in their eyes. The Prime Minister intervenes to sum up.
‘Thank you, Mr Churchill. Let me call a halt to this, save to say that the First Lord has expressed very clearly the view of this government. Lord Kitchener is making that view plain to Sir John French today, and I will do the same to the French government later this morning. We must be unified on this. I will not tolerate any public dissent. Differences of opinion must not go beyond this room.
‘Now, I have some sobering news to impart. We have received preliminary casualty figures from the first week of the war: over seven thousand dead or missing, and at least two thousand five hundred taken prisoner. These are appalling losses, and telegrams with the dreadful news are arriving in homes across the country as I speak.’
The Prime Minister’s head is bowed, staring at the lists of British dead.
‘I ask that we hold a few moments of silence in honour of those who have died and that we pray for those who will soon resume the bitter fight.’
After Cabinet, Winston and Lloyd George walk to Pall Mall for lunch at the Reform Club. They are hugely popular figures because of their work together on the National Insurance Act three years earlier, and now because of their support for the war, so they are cheered by everyone who recognizes them and many rush up to shake their hands. Although both men resigned from the Reform Club the year before over the blackballing of a friend, they have been given a wartime dispensation, as the club is so close to Whitehall, to attend for lunch. When they arrive, they receive many more warm handshakes and appreciative gestures before they sit down in the club’s splendidly gilded Coffee Room.
‘Dazzling this morning, Winston, very impressive, quite brought a tear to my eye!’
‘Thank you, David. The “60th Rifles” bit got my goat. He’s never picked one up in anger in his life!’
‘Neither have I.’
‘But you don’t make inane comments in Cabinet.’
Lloyd George has a mischievous smile on his face.
‘Do you know, Winston, I often wonder about you. Here we are at the home of the Liberal establishment, but are you sure you belong here? Aren’t men of your ilk supposed to be at the Carlton with the Tories?’
‘I rather think my “ilk” is entirely of my own making but, as you ask so bluntly, let me be candid in response. I think, at heart, I am a Tory. But, for the time being at least, my head is inclining me to Liberality – especially as most of the current Tories are buffoons.’
‘Well, I’m delighted to hear it. Let me know if your heart begins to rule your head. I pray it doesn’t just yet, because we need you.’
‘Very kind of you to say so.’
‘Now, about the situation with John French. How will he react to Kitchener laying down the law?’
‘Not well – in fact, he’ll be livid. They don’t get on, as you know, but he regards me as a friend – which I am, of course. He will write to me, begging me to help stop this “political interference”, arguing that K should stick to the politics and leave the soldiering to him. But he forgets that the Old Block picked K for the War Office precisely because he’s our senior soldier. Believe me, David, if I’d been in the Old Block’s shoes, I would have made myself Minister for War and made it absolutely clear to French that he was to do as he was bloody well told!’
‘I don’t doubt it for a second.’
Lloyd George gulps a mouthful of
wine as the two men watch a loin of pork being carved at the table.
‘Listen, Winnie, to change the subject to a bit of gossip. Is it true that Kitchener’s queer?’
‘Well, it’s a widely held rumour. He is inseparable from his aide-de-camp, a fine young chap called Captain Fitzgerald, and is surrounded by a group of young officers – what John French calls “Kitchener’s Band of Boys” – but all these tales are only innuendoes. And you should remember that there is a lot of envy directed towards him.’
Lloyd George, his ample moustache now dripping with pork gravy, has a wicked look on his face.
‘You spend a lot of time with the old buffer. Has he never asked you to walk round his rose garden, so to speak?’
‘Certainly not!’ Winston pauses … ‘Why his rose garden?’
Lloyd George laughs loudly and deliberately exaggerates his Welsh accent.
‘Well, you see, it’s supposed to be decorated by several pairs of naked bronze boys on marble pedestals; all with lovely pert backsides!’
‘Don’t, David, we’re having pork for lunch!’
Saturday 5 September
Wellington Hotel, Brunshaw Road, Burnley, Lancashire
The Ministry of War has made strong representations to the English and Scottish Football Associations and to the Football Leagues of both countries to request cancellation of the 1914–15 football season. But both associations and both leagues have decided to go ahead with their competitions, despite the outbreak of hostilities.
The Wellington Hotel, the nearest public house to Turf Moor, the home of Burnley Football Club, is packed with fans and there are many more on the pavements outside. It is a warm evening. Unusually, autumn has not yet come to North-East Lancashire.
The Shadow of War Page 17
