Last Man Standing

by Richard van Emden

  My interest in things military began in earliest childhood. I used to dress up in soldier’s clothes, like a toy soldier, belts and things like that, just a bit of fun, but nothing indicative, I think, to show that I was going to be an infantry officer in the Great War. However, the Army held an attraction for me. I remember the Relief of Ladysmith and Mafeking. I must have been about three at the time and I can remember an effigy of Kruger, the Boer President, with his top hat and tails. He was thrown on a large bonfire, the flames of which roared up the figure of this old gentleman amid the loud cheers of the assembled company. The men of the village had a torchlight procession and marched for miles, all around the houses, over the railway bridge, you could see the lights, the flames. There were fireworks too. I held a sort of sparkler and then the big bonfire was lit. I was horrified as a little child – watching the flames, and then poor old Kruger, his hat fell off and he tipped forward and fell into the flames, and I thought it was not a good thing to do to the old man. At the time a new verb entered the English language: it was to ‘Maffick’, and it meant riotous behaviour while rejoicing or celebrating some momentous event.

  I remember the names of the Generals: we had Lord Roberts, General Gordon of Khartoum, and Kitchener too, of course, and even Winston Churchill; he was a war correspondent and was captured by the Boers. We had a great standing then, across the globe, and father told us many, many stories of the British Empire in its heyday. We had a Land of Hope and Glory, the great Cape to Cairo railway, while a third of the world was painted red, marking the extent of the British Empire. And I remember, too, the stories of the war that was to come.

  There was a strong cadet force in all public schools and there was a very similar, if milder, corps in the day schools where I went. We weren’t issued with rifles but we were taught to drill. I learnt to drill quite well. I could take a squad of boys and number them off and get them into ranks of four and right wheel, left wheel and that sort of nonsense, and this stood me in good stead when I joined the army.

  We knew there was going to be a showdown with Germany because they were always drinking a toast to ‘Der Tag’. I had an uncle who worked for an engineering company and when he went to Germany he told me all the news about how this war was going to begin. Of course we thought we would take part in it, no doubt. ‘Der Tag’ – The Day – the day when the war would break out.

  Of course we had no conception of what it would be like. Nevertheless, we looked forward to it, and even then we talked about what we were going to do and the regiments we were going to join. I wanted to join a Scottish Regiment because, on my father’s side, his grandmother was a Hay and another one a Henderson, so I thought I had enough Scottish blood in me to justify my ambition.

  There was no question of feeling frightened about the prospect of war and I think that was partly to do with the literature we were bought. During my boyhood I read as much as I could about the world. I remember reading three books called Britain Invaded, Britain at Bay and Britain’s Revenge, which I bound together. I think it was published by the Boy’s Own Paper, of which I was a great fan, and we knew, of course, that we would win in the end because the book said so.

  On the seas, it was laid down that the British navy had to be twice the size of the next largest. As schoolboys in a shipbuilding town, we devoured the statistics of the latest British dreadnoughts, part of the Great British fleet which had 600 vessels by 1914, ready to face anything. Battleship after battleship was completed, the Iron Duke was the flagship. Following the great battleships came the battlecruisers and they really captured the imagination. They were very graceful, fast, heavily armed but lightly armoured. There was the Lion, which was Admiral Beatty’s flagship, the Tiger, the Inflexible, the Indomitable, the Prince of Wales, the Queen Elizabeth, and many others. The Germans, of course, copied us, so far as they could, and they also built a splendid line of battlecrusiers, including the Sedlitz, the Moltke and the von der Tann.

  In 1911 I recall the Army coming to camp at Hesleden. This was really very thrilling to watch. Large numbers of soldiers gathered at High Hesleden in a field in front of the Ship Inn, where there were pitched hundreds of bell tents. Bugles were blowing, bands were practising, the horse lines were formed with the most magnificent officers’ chargers. Chestnuts, bays, greys, the harnesses of which glistened with polishing by grooms who seemed to be at it all the time polishing the reins, the horses’ bits and chains. That wonderful summer of 1911! We often visited the horse lines, and it was lovely to see these beautiful chargers with their hooves black–leaded and their officers in their smart uniforms. One day they marched from High Hesleden over the bridge into Monk Hesleden, and for the first time I saw an army unit at close quarters. The officers were mounted on their chargers and a Sergeant Major, a fierce looking man, was in charge of the proceedings as far as I could see. I learnt that a battalion of 1,000 men consisted of four companies, A, B, C, D, and each company consisted of four platoons, 1, 2, 3, 4. Each company was commanded by a Major or Captain, each platoon by a Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant and a Platoon Sergeant. Each platoon was divided into four sections, each commanded by a Corporal or Lance Corporal. In those days the men marched in column of fours and I saw that many of the men wore the Ribbons of the South African War.

  Halcyon days: pre–war soldiers enjoy summer manoeuvres.

  The sound of the bugles was thrilling, especially the sunset ceremony, when the colours were hauled down for the night. These bronzed infantry soldiers marched through the village with packs and rifles on long route marches. They went down into the Dene and up the other side of the valley to Nesbit Hall and disappeared into the distance while we awaited their return. When they came back their shirts were open to the neck and they looked really exhausted and we offered to carry their rifles. Then, if we allowed to do so, we made our way up to the camp where the soldiers were making full use of the Ship Inn and there was a lot of singing going on. It looked very romantic with the field kitchens going, preparing the meals, and the smell of the food, the smell of the horses in the lines, the jingle of the harnesses and the bits, and it made a fourteen year old boy long to be a soldier. No doubt most of these men became part of the original Expeditionary Force that went to France just three years later.

  Sometime afterwards some of the first aeroplanes of the Royal Flying Corps flew in along the north sands to Seaton Carew golf links. There were about half–a–dozen of them and they were piloted by young officers; some of the original members of the RFC. At least one of the pilots was killed landing and we were all very sad about this. Later, I saw one officer at close quarters as he was in the barber’s shop having a shampoo when I was there. He was quite young and fair and I remember him saying that the sand had got into his hair.

  Editor The incident was more serious than Norman realised. Ten aircraft of No2 Squadron were on their way from Montrose to Salisbury Plain when they halted at Seaton Carew. The next day they took off in bright sunshine but shortly afterwards the aircraft became mired in a thick mist, obscuring all landmarks. Three aircraft crashed and two airmen, a Lieutenant and a mechanic, were killed instantly.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Shilling a Day

  The day war broke out, I was thrilled; we were all thrilled. There was a feeling that we were all determined to push the Germans back into Germany. I don’t remember any boy saying he didn’t want to go, in fact most wanted to get into action before Christmas. We loved our country, patriotism was assumed. We had a great pride in our Empire and I felt I had to defend my country, although looking back now I don’t know why I ever joined the army after seeing what shellfire could do. However, I was British and I was fighting for my country, and I think I was in the mood that any guy who was fighting us was a bad guy. Rather silly really, looking back with hindsight; we were all duped to a great extent.

  At that time, though, I was proud to be a volunteer who was willing to defend his country and ready to die for his country too. Well, anyway, on the
day war broke out, August 4th 1914, I immediately rushed down to the recruiting station in town, told them I was twenty, although I didn’t look anything like it. I said I wanted to join a Scottish Regiment and they said that they had vacancies in the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, so I enlisted. A local doctor, Dr Robertson, passed me fit for service. This doctor later fought in both wars, was taken prisoner in 1940 and died in captivity.

  I had joined up, at least I thought I had. I hadn’t told my parents, of course, and the next morning I set off to go down to the station to get on a train to join my Regiment. However, when I got there my father was waiting, with a company director of a firm to which I had recently become an indentured apprentice in the drawing office. The company was Sir William Grey and Company, shipbuilders of Hartlepool, who were building ships for the Royal Navy, as well as shallow draught boats for the River Plate in the Argentine. They told the officer I was already on war work and that, besides, I was only seventeen, ‘so I’m afraid you can’t have him’. I was embarrassed, of course, and found to my disgust that I was not in the army but rather I was returned to my position as an apprentice. I was, however, given a little badge to put in my lapel to signify that I was on important war work, but for those us who wanted to get into the army this was of limited comfort.

  Was it important to feel that I had volunteered rather than waiting, perhaps to be conscripted? Very much so. My word, yes. When conscripts came into the army in 1916, we volunteers had been in for some time, and did not think a great deal of conscripts because they wouldn’t have been in France unless they had been compelled to be there.

  ‘Come join the army’ A welcoming committee awaits new recruits outside the Drill Hall.

  For nine months I went back to work, until I saw an advertisement in the paper saying that if one went to Stockton-on-Tees one could get a railway ticket to the depot of the regiment one wished to join. I had waited to enlist and, now I was 18, I went and bought a ticket to Stockton on Tees.

  Once there I enquired as to which was the most northern regiment in the country, so my parents wouldn’t find me easily and take me back home. They said the Rosshire Regiment, the Seaforth Highlanders at Dingwall. I knew a little bit about the Regiment and liked their tartan. They were already fighting in France and had a good history, and when you’re joining up you might as well join a good regiment and one that would see some fighting.

  I said ‘Right, can I have a ticket to go there’, so they gave me a ticket and I set off on a Saturday morning, on the 5th June 1915, without telling anyone where I was going, and with just ten shillings in my pocket – one of the new ten-shilling notes. I travelled all day long and by evening I had got as far as Inverness. It was getting late, about 9pm, and I went out into the streets where I came across a lot of Cameron Highlanders, wounded soldiers, who’d been wounded at the Battle of Neuve Chapelle. They were very friendly and asked what I was doing up there, so I told them I’d come to join the army. They said ‘Well, you won’t get any farther tonight, come along to the Cameron barracks and we’ll get a bed for you.’ So we went along there and they went into the canteen and asked for the Quartermaster Sergeant to come out. He was a red-faced, beefy looking man with a fierce moustache and he looked at me as the lowest form of life, as no doubt I was to him, and asked what I wanted. He then directed me to go along and get a donkey’s breakfast. I didn’t know what that was but soon discovered it was a straw mattress and a couple of brown army blankets, so I made a bed and settled down.

  These wounded soldiers kept coming in, a little merry, to say the least, from an evening in the town and they were all a little surprised to see a small young stranger in civilian clothes lying on the barrack floor. They kept pushing little flasks of whisky over to me for a swig, but I didn’t take any as I had never touched alcohol in my life. I enjoyed talking to them and asked them a few questions before I went to sleep. In the morning I was given a breakfast of porridge and kippers before the Sergeant Major said ‘Right, go along to the orderly room and we’ll sign you up.’ I corrected him saying, ‘No, I’m not signing up for the Camerons. I appreciate what you’ve given me but I’ve come up here to join the Seaforth Highlanders’. Of course the Seaforths was a rival regiment to the Camerons and he nearly blew his top and told me to get out of there.

  I left and went to the railway station where at mid-day I finally got on a train to Dingwall. As it was Sunday evening, few people were about. However, I was directed towards a lodging house where I joined eight other lads from Leeds who were intending to enlist the next day. The lady who ran the house looked at me like I was a babe in arms. I told her I was intending to join the army but I was only small and hardly looked more than a schoolboy, so she gave me two boiled eggs for tea, and scones to feed me up.

  The next morning I went down to the drill hall, where I was sworn in by a man wearing a Glengarry with the lovely lyre-shaped tail of a blackcock. He was called Major Manson of the 5th Battalion, and I remember him as a very kind, gentle sort of man. He gave me the king’s shilling and the following morning I set off with a small contingent for Fort George on the shores of the Cromarty Firth, on the North Sea. I went through the gates and joined another world. I knew my parents would know perfectly well what I’d done. They knew me.

  I was issued with a uniform of sorts, but instead of having a Glengarry I was handed a South African hat turned up at the side: a relic of the Boer War. Instead of a kilt I was given trousers and the rest of a badly fitting uniform. Now in uniform, I had to send my civilian clothes back home, and my mother told me afterwards that she had quite a little weep when she got them. I was not to wear civilian clothes again for a good number of years. Futhermore, apart from the visit of a barber who came from Ardersier, a small village just outside the Fort, I don’t think I saw any civilians at all for months.

  Fort George was an austere place. The fort itself had a rampart all round it, covered in turf and grass, while underneath there were gaslit dungeon-like quarters. These held about twenty men sleeping on collapsible iron bedsteads, and I was told that that was where I would sleep. They were a pretty rough crowd but they were good fellows. Many had come from Northern Ireland and a number had come from the Western Isles and couldn’t even speak English, just Gaelic. They had never seen a railway engine until they had reached the mainland.

  The next morning I was detailed to carry the latrine buckets down to the drains to empty them, which I didn’t like at all, thinking the job incompatible with my dignity. Afterwards I was sent on to the ramparts to do some drill. The first thing was to double round the top at high speed a couple of times, and then we had ordinary infantry drill overseen by a very young subaltern called Burnham, a handsome man in his officer’s uniform. Along with other recruits I did some drill, before Burnham asked if anyone thought they could drill the squad. I stepped forward smartly and said I could, as I had done this at school. So I was given a go and I brought them to attention and called them to number off from the right. As the fourth man called out I stopped him and said, ‘As you were’, because I had noticed that this was the sort of thing the Drill Sergeant did, he never let them number freely the first time as a matter of discipline. So I called them back and started again with ‘and now a little smarter’. You can imagine at eighteen, only 5’ 4½”, I got such black looks from the squad, but then at that age you think you can do anything. I drilled them, changed direction right, changed direction left and managed to get the front rank back into the front rank, before I brought them before the officer. I then stood them to attention and turned around and saluted, handing the platoon back to the officer, who told me to stand them at ease. The officer then walked away with me and said, ‘What the hell are you doing here? Why didn’t you take a commission?’ I told him it took all my time to get into the army at all, never mind as an officer.

  Fort George pre First World War and today. Almost nothing has changed in the intervening century to the barracks built near Inverness in 1746 after the Jacobite re
bellion.

  That evening Burnham told me to look at the notice board and there I read ‘Private W N Collins to be Lance Corporal’ and then, in brackets, to be ‘unpaid’. I rushed off to the tailor’s shop and had one stripe put up, then went to the canteen and ordered a little swagger cane with a silver top. Next morning I walked alongside the chap carrying the latrine buckets, with my cane under my arm, and told him what he could do with them, which pleased me much better!

  Being a lance corporal, I was put in charge of a dungeon. I was responsible for issuing the breakfasts, serving from a huge metal tray, bacon, tomatoes and so on, and it was quite a job ensuring that everyone got a fair share. I was a bit unpopular because the ones at the end got short rations. In time I was also made canteen corporal, which meant keeping order in the canteen. I think they chose me because I was a non-drinker. However, I got on very well because I treated the men tactfully, especially those who were drinking heavily.

  Norman’s third letter after enlistment.

  Editor: On enlistment, Norman was sent to the 3/4th Battalion Seaforth Highlanders, a territorial training battalion formed in April 1915, and made up of new recruits collected at the regiment’s depot at Dingwall. This was essentially a second feeder battalion to the 1/4th Territorial Battalion, which had been fighting in France ever since November 1914. It was at that time that any men left behind, combined with new recruits, had created the 2/4th battalion, essentially the first line of drafts to the 1/4th in France. The men of the 2/4th Battalion would therefore be sent abroad before, as Norman reassured his family, those of the 3/4th would necessarily follow.

  The letters and postcards Norman wrote during the 1914-18 war are all now held at the Imperial War Museum, and are divided into six separate files, each a defined period in Norman’s war service. The initial two letters were both written on the same day, the first is a letter written shortly after rising in the morning, the second, a hasty plea for much needed materials.