Last Man Standing

by Richard van Emden

Norman xxx

  Editor: Norman’s letters had, by 1917, visibly changed from those he wrote earlier in the war. The youthful exuberance and zest for all things military had waned, and as his own learning curve began to plateau, so his desire to write long, informative, letters faded. He was now a veteran at the age of just twenty, and, for much of the rest of the war, his letters became shorter and more to the point. The impression that the conflict was wearing Norman down mentally can be gleaned, even when his writing remained at times quite optimistic.

  May 28th 1917

  Dear all

  Many thanks for your letter of the 21st.

  Did you receive a lot of picture postcards (Boche) that I sent?

  The weather is still very hot here. I am surprised that it is not in England. The Battalion is going into the front line for a few days tonight, but I am not going in this time.

  The night we were relieved last week my headquarters (just an old door with two inches of soil over the trench) got a direct hit by a shell and finished 3 officers and a Sergeant Major of the regiment that relieved us [Ed. 4th Gordon Highlanders]. Lucky for me wasn’t it.

  The Boche aeroplanes are very busy at present. I see in today’s paper that you have had them in England.

  Some of the Boche prisoners are very pessimistic while others are still confident that they will win. There are a lot of local ‘scraps’ in this sector but the main battle here is finished.

  I had a swim in the River [Scarpe] yesterday. It was lovely.

  I had my eyes tested the other day and would like you to send me out the enclosed prescript. (The result of shell explosion on December 8th 1916)

  I also enclose the type of rimless I want.

  3/6/17

  Dear Bolton

  Many thanks for your letter of the 30th.

  Tomorrow we are going on a long ‘trek’. We are rather in the ‘dumps’ tonight. You remember old Pitcairn (another little drink) that pal of mine? Well last night his brother who is in the Mechanical Transport came over to see him. They have not met for 18 months.

  We had a fine time and arranged a football match for today Seaforths v Mech. Transport.

  We got word tonight that Pitcairn’s brother [Ed. 2nd Lieutenant Hugh Francis Pitcairn] was killed going back to his transport column. He had an accident on his motorbike. A bit of a tragedy isn’t it?

  …Best love to all

  Yours, Norman

  Editor: On the day of the great assault on the Messines Ridge, 7th June, the Battalion moved to the village of La Panne, where the men were billeted for a fortnight. In the countryside around La Panne the Seaforths underwent extensive training while, off-duty, men of Norman’s company made friends with the local inhabitants. Norman took many pictures of this period out of the line.

  June 10th 1917

  Dear all

  …Oh the wounds you ask about were mere scratches as I said before, and were better long ago.

  We are now many miles from the place I last wrote from, and not very far from ‘Blighty’. I much prefer this part of France to the Somme, and Arras districts. There is a ‘push’ on at present I believe. I wish I could see a paper to know all about it.

  We are ‘resting’ at present. Very hard work it is too.

  Thanks for the cigarettes from Robinsons. I’ve been expecting them for a month at least. I hadn’t any at all when I went into action about 3 or 4 weeks ago.

  About time the war was over isn’t it.

  Yours with love, Norman xxx

  June 17th 1917

  Dear all

  …I wish this war was over. It is absolute murder now. There is too much machinery about it. I hope it finishes about next spring then I can have a nice six months holiday during the fine weather. I am afraid this is a dream though as we will not be demobilised for at least 12 months I should think.

  Why did I join the infantry? And an assaulting Division at that. I think the Royal Garrison Artillery would have suited my ‘gentle disposition’ better.

  You can see I am in a fed up mood today. Probably the heat is the cause, the weather is very hot.

  Well tea is ready so au Revoir

  Best love to all

  Norman

  PS Letters from England are not censored.

  June 23/1917

  Dear all

  Many thanks for the nice parcel you sent.

  I nearly finished it in one night. A wee French kiddie about 5 years of age assisted me. You will see her photo soon.

  When we left our last billet (yesterday) the people belonging to the farm shed about a bucketful of tears.

  They were very good to us giving us honey, milk etc for nothing.

  For a week or so I was sleeping in white sheets.

  My French is improving greatly.

  …With best love, Norman xx

  Norman

  I remember that farm at Poperinge behind Ypres and it was a delightful little place to be while we were training for 3rd Ypres. It was lovely sunny weather and, when we got time, we used to ride on the farm horses. You only had to be two or three miles behind the lines and you were back home.

  There were no young men there at the farm, but it was full of their children. I have snapshots of the little girl, I mentioned her in my letter: her name was Denise and she was riding on my shoulders, and I should think she was about seven years of age. I also have pictures of my bearer, Simpson. He was aged just 18, but had been at the front fully a year and a half, having enlisted well under age. He had been a farm boy and for recreation used to hoe the vegetables on the farm, just because he wanted to do it: it was a relief for him. And I watched him on many occasions hoeing these vegetables and wondered what he was thinking about. When he returned, the farmer gave him a bottle or two of cider or wine; he certainly deserved it.

  Not all relations between British troops and local people were entirely happy. I did have an occasion when, on a French farm, they locked up the water pump in the farmyard to stop us from drinking it, and this caused a little ill feeling at the time. But life in an infantry battalion was generally very circumscribed and we hardly heard French spoken at times, never mind mixing with them, except when we were right out on rest, as we were that June.

  Denise. Children were a great delight to officers and men battle-worn from months serving near the line.

  This period of rest was marred by one incident in which I was required to attend a court martial. Discipline was vital to the effectiveness of any army and a system of punishments were meted out to those who misbehaved. As officers we learnt all about military law and Field Punishment during training, and of course its applications. Later, in France, I saw Field Punishment No1 in operation, when the victim or culprit was spread-eagled on the wheel of an artillery wagon and strapped by the ankles and the wrists. He was in full sun and he remained tied there for the requisite number of hours he had been sentenced to. More serious still were the punishments handed out at the court martial which could include the ultimate sanction of death.

  A collection of pictures taken by Norman when the Battalion was out at rest at a farm near Poperinge.

  There was to be a court martial of two men: one was a of a man who had a family of about six children and the other was an officer in a Highland Regiment. My job was as an ‘officer’s friend’ – an officer had a personal guard. I was in charge of an officer during the day: I had to look after him for twenty-four hours and we got to know each other quite well and had a chat. He told me quite a few things about himself. He had taken too much rum when he had gone over the top and he was incapable of carrying out his duty properly. He was a charming man and I felt very sorry for him and I knew the least punishment he could get would be to be reduced to the ranks and sent back to the regiment as a private. But the next day he shot himself, and of course they wanted to know where he got the revolver from. Well he didn’t get it from me and I was able to prove that, but I was almost court martialled because I was the last one with him. Obviously some brothe
r officer had managed to slip him a revolver and got it back again after he had shot himself.

  I remember the officers of the court martial, all spick and span; they were mounted and had their horses tied up there, and they all had these fly whisks you get amongst cavalry officers – they seemed in another world. They were discussing amongst themselves about the court martial, and I remember one private, as I was told at the time, was sentenced to be executed, and he was duly shot. He was a man about 35 or more with a family of about six or seven children. I have no recollection of seeing him; but I was told by one of the officers at the court martial that he had been sentenced to death. [Ed. no soldier executed during this period seems to fit the man described and it would seem likely that, in this particular example the death sentence was commuted – as happened in 90 per cent of cases. ] There were two or three other less serious cases too. There was one of a lesser offence, and this concerned an officer who was reduced to the ranks. The battalion was paraded and the officer stood out in the middle and his badges of rank were cut off, and he was marched away and rejoined his regiment. I heard afterwards from someone who knew him that he made a very good second start and rose to the rank of Sergeant Major.

  Editor: The 51st Division, including the 4th Seaforth Highlanders, was, as the Battalion’s War History noted, ‘a body of shock troops – that is, troops used almost exclusively for attack. While there were obvious disadvantages in belonging to shock troops, there was the great advantage that they did not have the monotony of holding the trenches when there was nothing of interest going on, but went back for rest and training.’ Those early summer months of June and July were undoubtedly the most pleasant spent by Norman in France, and he took time to take many pictures of the Battalion as it prepared for the next offensive. The War History noted games of cricket, bathing and sports in the afternoons, after morning training, while concerts and torchlight tattoos were held in the evenings.

  Norman

  It was a very agreeable interlude. I still remember the scent of the broad beans and it still brings back the memory of that period whenever I smell them growing today, a lovely sweet smell. I have pictures of Pitcairn and Captain Harris, the pipe band and boxing matches between the troops, as well as pictures of the men advancing in open order and practising their musketry. Apart from training, the battalion went on several route marches. In hot weather these route marches were exhausting and we had a rest of ten minutes in the hour when, on a signal, all the men flopped down without removing their packs and just lay there until the order came to get on their feet again. And the band would strike up, the bagpipes, and off we went for another part of the route march, and very glad we were too to see the billet again.

  New drafts were sent out to join the Battalion, including an officer friend of mine from Ripon, George Robson. After the mauling the Battalion had had at Arras, we were now once again more or less up to strength, fit and ready for the next offensive. And that is how it was. If you survived one assault, you went back; you trained again for another show, when once again you had to accept that your chances of living could be cut to minutes and seconds. Still, our spirits were high and, in a letter I sent home at the time, I firmly believed that the war would soon be over: ‘I think we will have them out of Belgium by the end of August, at any rate we will do our best,’ I wrote optimistically.

  Of the proposed plan of attack itself, timed, we were told, for 31st July, my chief recollection is of a large model constructed of the front line, second and third lines at Ypres. A wooden tower had been built, like a clay pigeon shooting tower, and officers and NCOs went to the top of this tower and looked down on a very large-scale replica of the ground over which the attack was to be made. Everything was shown, including hills, trees and field boundaries, as well as the various German pillboxes. While we were there, we were invited to walk on and around the model to familiarise ourselves with the layout, from the jumping-off trenches right back as far as a river known as the Steenbeek, some two thousand yards or more from our front line.

  The 4th Seaforths on the march, encouraged by their pipers.

  At work and play. The 4th Seaforths training for the forthcoming attack at Ypres while, below, the company turn out to watch a boxing match.

  Editor: Just before the Battalion moved back into the line, into the line the training intensified. ‘We are very busy at present,’ Norman wrote 4 July. Noting that he was not due for leave for another six months, he candidly hoped ‘to get another “Blighty” before the next offensive due at the end of the month’. As with all such attacks, Norman recorded that half of the officers would be left behind, to form the backbone of the battalion in the event of heavy casualties amongst those officers taking part: ‘I hadn’t the luck to be left out of the show,’ he remarked, adding, ‘the next will be my third big show’.

  Below, a model of a battlefield built to help soldiers familiarise themselves with the terrain over which they would attack. A platform gives the opportunity for a better view.

  German dead strewn around the battlefield.

  In the event Norman’s speculative wish for a ‘Blighty’ was about to materialise and he would play no part in what turned into a four month struggle for the ridges to the east of Ypres.

  After their quiet spell in June, in which the whole of 154 Brigade suffered not a single casualty, the men prepared themselves to return to the line. On 9 July, the 4th Seaforth Highlanders marched to St Omer, where they entrained for Poperinge, arriving around 2pm, when they marched into camp. The following day, B and C Companies were detailed to move into the support trenches near the village of Pilckem. The Battalion diary records that 10 July was a ‘Dull day. 2 Lt WN Collins was slightly wounded by shrapnel. Battalion relieved the 6th Gordons in the line to the left of Ypres’.

  Norman’s injury was exceptionally unlucky and was caused by the occasional shellfire which accompanied B and C Company’s progress into the line. He was the only officer casualty that day, although six other ranks were also wounded, possibly in the same explosion. No other casualty was recorded in the entire Brigade on the 10th; indeed, Norman was the only officer casualty that the 4th Seaforth Highlanders suffered until the final day of the month.

  As Norman mentioned in his letter, had he not been wounded, he would have taken part in the new offensive, generally known as the Third Battle of Ypres. On that day, the 51st Division alone achieved all its objectives, reaching the River Steenbeek. The 4th Battalion was held in reserve to be called forward at any moment. In the event they were largely onlookers as other battalions in the Division swept forward, although the 4th Seaforths still suffered 100 casualties during the day’s fighting.

  Telegram

  July 15th

  Regret to inform you 2/Lt W N Collins 4 Seaforth admitted Duchess Westminsters Hospital 12 July Gun shot wound left leg high.

  Norman

  I have rather less memory of the second explosion that got me. We had begun to move up and, by a stroke of luck, a shell selected me, and this time it buried me. I know this only because I later discovered that my finger nails had all been ripped off as I sought to scratch my way out. In the end others dug me out, apparently. I can only imagine that I must have lost consciousness; I was certainly confused for sometime afterwards.

  I can’t remember the first part of my journey down the line, but I finally got down to a field dressing station made of corrugated iron where there were a number of casualties, including chaps with head wounds, their brains practically hanging out. At first the medics didn’t know what was wrong with me until they discovered a wound in the groin, a wound in the knee, a broken scapula, as well as various other odds and ends. I must have been fairly well damaged, but most of it was internal. Patched up, I was sent down by train to the base and the Duchess of Westminster’s Hospital at Paris Plage. The hospital had been set up in the Casino, a luxurious place, and I was very happy to be there, I must admit.

  At the hospital I found a very nice bunch of nurses
and, as I had my little camera with me, I took pictures of them. The surroundings were nice to begin with and the nurses all seemed to be jolly: they always seemed to be laughing. I think you’ll see from the photographs that they are putting on a very good face. Every day the men had to have a fresh dressing, and small wounds like mine meant nothing. I mean the real wounds were where people had been almost disembowelled and still survived, and the nurses had to dress them. You would hear men who were probably dying, really, and they were calling for their mothers. A shell or a gun shot was no respecter of where it was going to hit and, in many cases, well, without going into details, you can well imagine that there’s a great deal of private parts removed as well, and the nurses had to dress those, if the man survived.

  The casino at Paris Plage which was turned into an officers’ hospital.

  Nurses relax between shifts. Spot the twins.

  You would try to disguise the pain in front of the nurses, but I never saw any nurse show signs of weakness. Had they shown any it would have been only natural, because you’ve got to remember that a nursing sister with her red cloak, she’s a very different kettle of fish to a VAD [Ed. Voluntary Aid Detachment]. The VADs were volunteers and had very little training of any kind, and naturally they would react in a human way to any pain they saw or heard, sure to; but they were very brave indeed.

  The VADs we met were often from well-to-do families, whereas the general nurses were often from quite humble backgrounds and had spent many years working their way up the nursing ladder. I saw a party of VADs performing a little charade – near my bed – and one of them took the part of Queen Victoria. She had a sort of mobile face and she used to sit up and put a paper crown on, and it seemed to me that she actually knew Queen Victoria; and the nurses, the VADs who gathered around her, knelt at her feet. There were no regular nurses amongst them, they were all VADs, and I would say that many were the daughters of aristocratic families, or people out of the top drawer as the saying goes, and they were obviously – I hate using the word – a different class, a different social standing to the nurses. They had lived on every comfort and for them it must have been a great change to go and have to empty bedchambers as their first job in the morning. I salute them for everything they did in that way, because it was just as valuable as the actual dressing of a wound which was done by the regular Sister.