Delville Wood

by Ian Uys

  “One day the shelling seemed to increase. Jerry was attacking and entering the wood. My pal and I were crouching near our padre when this happened. He turned to me and said, ‘Go on boys, run for it, you must not be captured.’ To which I replied, ‘What about you, Sir?’ He said, ‘Do as I say, I will be all right. They will not harm me.’

  “I asked if we could wait awhile until the heavy shelling had died down. He said, ‘Do you think this is a hailstorm in South Africa and want to wait until it eases off? You get going.’ He placed his hands on our heads and said, ‘God grant that these lads get through — now off with you.’

  “Jet propulsion had nothing on us; we simply flew, ducking and diving until I reached a trench full of 9th Division Scottish soldiers. My pal had gone off somewhere else. Into the trench I dived with all hell let loose behind me, and the men in the trench held their fire until we appeared to be all clear. Then they opened up and gave Jerry some of his own medicine. For quite a while it was chaos. Those Jocks knew their job and were they doing it well!

  “From where I was blazing away I could see the Jerries had got the padre and were going down a deep cellar where wounded from both sides were taking shelter. A Jock asked me why the hell we had remained in the wood taking everything the Jerries could throw at us. ‘You South Africans have got guts; no doubt about that.’

  “He told me that they had been itching to go in and help, but nobody seemed to want to give them orders to do so. All the while a sergeant of the Jocks had been using a Lewis gun beside me and I became fascinated at the way he was carrying on. Swearing like nobody’s business, telling everyone within earshot what he would like to do to this, that and the other so-and-sos.

  “I then saw something I shall never forget. This sergeant, in the act of re-loading suddenly held his hand up and I saw his left thumb had gone. He went berserk, picked up a rifle with a bayonet fixed and went right over the top like a madman, right into the wood.

  “The Lewis gun was lying on the edge of the trench, loaded and with the cocking handle in position. Here goes, I thought, I had handled Lewis guns in practice but never in action, so I attempted to give it a trial. My first burst made a lot of dust and a Jock nearby said, ‘Lower your butt, laddie. It’s Jerries you should be hitting, not the bank in front.’ I finished the magazine, happy in the thought that I had done something towards winning the war and to cap it, with a machine-gun. Maybe they would let me put up a gunners’ badge if I came out. I had that honour very late in the war.

  “Things began to get very quiet now, the attack had been repulsed and Jerry had gone back to lick his wounds. There were very few South Africans left and the wood was a shambles. Poor South African wives, mothers and others. What a shock it was going to be back home when the news got there.”

  *

  Lawson began the day in no-man’s-land.

  “Midnight came, and the anxious and lonesome hours were slowly running on. I was on the point, about 2 am, of retracing my steps out of no-man’s-land, to arouse my brother-watcher when a mass of men, bent double and so moving slowly, appeared about sixty yards ahead. With a lightning-like pull on the wire, on all fours I mustered what speed I could, and in safety reached our trench. I found Breytenbach had lost no time. There was no regimental call of ‘stand to!’ but he had passed a whisper telling the boys to keep silence, and make the best use of their bullets.

  “Breytenbach returned to my side. He assured me that everyone was ready, and was then silent, doubtless in a cry for that spirit of readiness he so manifested throughout. As if in answer, within one minute we greeted the oncomers with our rifles, and such was the fury and accuracy of our fire that the enemy’s attempt to bomb us out hopelessly failed. They threw their bombs at random, only to further maul no-man’s-land. Then, with a furious rush, they tried to storm and take our trench. Again the indomitable spirit, backed only by cool, telling rifle fire, prevailed. The Huns in mad disorder rushed for the cover of their own trenches, having paid heavy toll, as evidenced by the surface of no-man’s-land.

  “Silence followed, and for the first time since entering that wood did we experience the delights of comparative peace, and enjoy any respite from the ceaseless fiendish flow of shells. That is, that instead of hundreds of shells per minute from various batteries, only dozens per minute fell. With this came a relaxing of tension, and for the first time I surrendered to a peaceful sleep. How long I rested I do not know, but on awaking I found Breytenbach, again ministering to the needs of others, smilingly inviting me to breakfast. Whilst I slept he had visited our fallen comrades, taking from them the food and water they no longer needed, and distributing them along the line, so that all had ample of both.

  “The trial to come was a trial in which the grit of a few men was put to a terrible test. As will also be seen, it is clear that we could not possibly have held our position after the small hours of Tuesday morning, but for Breytenbach. Not only did we hold on after that, we inflicted heavy losses on the enemy. We were but a small forlorn party, armed simply with rifles, and the Germans knew this. They had shelled, as they must have thought, if not the life, at least the spirit, out of us.

  “To face an infantry onrush we had to stand up in our shallow trench, exposing heads and shoulders. As will be seen we did this repeatedly and successfully. To a foe, themselves prone to surrender under conditions much less trying, the moral effect of the stand we continued to make must have been great. The question the South Africans put to the enemy at Delville Wood was, ‘Can such men be beaten?’ The only answer is an answer of despair to the enemy.

  “Intense shell fire had again commenced and it gave us a feeling of grim satisfaction to find that the kind of shells now sent in to us was an acknowledgement that the enemy realised that they were facing intrepid and death-dealing riflemen. Three-fifths of their shells were tear-shells. We shed tears copiously. They were the only tears we had shed — the product of the ingenuity of perverted human brain, fertile in the invention of the vile implements of scientific warfare. Our gas-masks became stuffy and suffocating, and had to be discarded.

  “About 7 am I walked along the line, and counted but twenty-two to defend about 150 yards of this front-line trench. A number of these belonged to various companies of the 3rd Battalion, some to the South African Scottish, but there were very few of the old D Company men left.

  “It was an inspiring sight. Sitting in their cramped trenches, facing the enemy, with clips of cartridges neatly laid ready in heaps on waterproof sheets beside them, and lightly holding their rifles in unconscious fingers, the brave lads were all fast asleep; from their appearance there was little to distinguish them from the dead. I felt the danger, but who so cruel as to waken them? I certainly could not. Breytenbach and myself resumed the weary watch, depending upon each other — my confidence in him was full.

  “It was as if night for ever refused to give way to day. A drizzling rain was falling in an atmosphere unstirred by a breath of wind. Smoke and gases clung to and polluted the air, making a canopy impervious to light. What a contrast was this Tuesday morning to the morning of the previous Saturday, when we first entered what was then a beautiful sylvan scene, but now everywhere a dreary waste!

  “Midday came, and with it a midday meal, eaten under this filthy pall. During the whole of this day no-man’s-land was enveloped in this semi-darkness, making it impossible to see anything but blurred outlines.

  “Our little party had to wait in their cramped condition of tortured suspense till nearly 3 pm for the only relief we now looked for, the relief afforded by the excitement of the desperate fighting against great odds. The enemy now launched an attack in overwhelming numbers amid the continued roar of the artillery. Once more they found us ready — this small party of utterly worn-out men, shaking off their slumbers to stand up in their shallow trench and face the terrible odds.

  “As the Huns came on they were mowed down — every shot must have told. Our rifles smoked and became unbearably hot, but tho
ugh the end seemed near, it was not yet. When the Huns wavered and broke they were reinforced and came on again. We again prevailed and drove them back. Only one Hun crossed our trench, to fall shot in the heart a few yards behind it. Once more they had failed. The lip of our trench told more plainly than words can how near they were to not failing. Beyond, in no-man’s-land, we could do something to estimate the cost of their failure.

  “Exhaustion now did what shell fire and counter-attacks had failed to do, and we collapsed in our trench, spent in body and at last worn out in spirit. The task we had been set was too great for us. What happened during the next two hours or so I do not know. Numbed in all my senses, I gazed vacantly into space, feeling as if the whole thing had been a ghastly nightmare, out of which I was now only awaiting complete deliverance.

  “From this state of coma I was rudely awakened by a shell which exploded just over me, and instantaneously I passed into unconsciousness. When I regained consciousness a few minutes after, my first sensation was that of having been thoroughly refreshed by sleep. But on moving I found that the fight for me was over. (Lawson was severely wounded in the knee.)

  “I tried to rouse my friend who had fallen face downwards beside me. Getting no response, I lifted his head, calling upon him by name, but I could not arouse him. I then commenced with pain and difficulty to walk down the line. I found the last two hours of shelling had done its work — only six remained alive in the trench.

  “I aroused some of the young, brave, worn-out sleepers and told one of them, whose name I do not know, that I had been badly hit, and was going to try and walk out. He faced me for a second and asked me what he was to do. I said there was nothing to do but carry on, as the orders of Saturday morning had not been countermanded. His brave, ‘Right O!’ were the last words I heard there — surely fitting words as the curtain fell for me, on that fatal field of noble deeds.

  “I returned to Breytenbach, and shook him gently and again raised his head. Then I realised that the shell which had put me out of the fight had put him to rest. With a last look at my friend, I turned to face that painful walk out of the stricken wood. The barrage that had left us isolated, and made it impossible for stretcher-bearers to come in, was unabated. Wounded and in pain, a consciousness of the presence of the spirit of this good man was as a guiding star to me out of the wood.”

  *

  During the day a shell exploded near the machine-gun officer, Lieut A Cameron, and he was wounded in the left shoulder. He had previously served with the Natal Carbineers in SWA.

  *

  The adjutant, Capt Claude Browne, found himself near the HQ dug-out in Buchanan Street. In 1912 he had served as a lieutenant in the Transvaal Scottish.

  “On 18 July while engaged in the fighting in Delville Wood, I was wounded in the right thigh. I was taken into a dug-out in the trench. During that night I asked Col Thackeray to have me sent down to the dressing-station at Longueval. Colonel Thackeray got four stretcher-bearers and sent me away.

  “We had hardly gone a few yards when one of the stretcher-bearers was shot by a German sniper. The other stretcher-bearers dropped me and took shelter in shell-holes. In the meantime, the sniper was still firing at me. Colonel Thackeray crept out and pulled me to safety.”

  Private Charles Thomson showed magnificent courage in carrying important messages to headquarters under heavy fire. His indifference to danger inspired others in the difficult task of bringing up stores and ammunition. Thomson also assisted the wounded at great personal risk and was eventually himself wounded.

  *

  The battalion medical officer, Major Mitchell Stanislaus Power had worked day and night in Bernafay Wood (11-13th), in the sunken road behind Longueval (15th) and in Longueval (16-18th), the whole time under heavy shell fire which on two occasions smashed dressing-stations he occupied.

  One of the youngest soldiers in the wood was Eric Wilhelm Beeton, 16, of Abrahamskraal, district Bloemfontein. As he stood 5 ft 11 ins he had found no difficulty in passing his age off as 18. Beeton was one of the draft which joined the brigade at Alexandria. He was killed during the bombardment of the 18th and is buried in the Delville Wood cemetery. His parents, who had moved to Cala, Transkei, in the interim, then gave his correct age.

  *

  Company Sergeant-Major James Wilson had assisted Capt Ross in reorganising the company the previous day after three officers were lost. He personally carried orders to detached posts under heavy fire on the 18th and led stretcher-bearers to exposed wounded, especially that evening at Longueval when he showed great energy, coolness and resource.

  The company was subjected to heavy shell fire when it reached the northern perimeter and many acts of bravery took place amid the bursting shells and falling trees. Sergeant D Schuring reorganised the men at a critical time and on several occasions brought in wounded men across shell-swept ground.

  Two stretcher-bearers, Privates A McIntosh and W Swan, were conspicuous for the fearless manner in which they carried on their rescues of wounded men who were exposed to the shell fire.

  Corporal Charles Dixon brought his Lewis gun into action under heavy fire. He fired standing, resting the gun against a tree and continued with great coolness until wounded.

  Private Charles Slade had showed consistent gallantry as a stretcher-bearer during the past four days. On many occasions he carried the wounded through the barrage behind Longueval and fearlessly exposed himself while bandaging and attending to wounded under fire.

  *

  On the evening of the 18th Capt Hesketh Ross showed great coolness in his handling of his company at Longueval. It was a critical time and he enabled the position to be held with security.

  *

  Major Hunt records Boustead among the wounded.

  “July 18 — sent 50 of B and C Company into wood. Lieut Smith wounded in leg, a Blighty, Boustead wounded, Fitz Bell killed just as 50 were starting off, so sent Maclean of B instead of Smith of C.

  “Brought up remains of B and C Company in afternoon and advanced in line across open without casualties though shelling heavy, with some of 1st Regiment and first occupied Clarges Street with some Argylls and Black Watch, then moved to Longueval ruins and to south-west corner of wood.

  “A Black Watch corporal went to a dead man and got his iron ration tin of bully, opened it with his bayonet and gave it to me, then went and got another for himself. I ate all mine.”

  *

  Major Donald MacLeod was wounded, so Hunt took over command of the 4th battalion.

  Second-Lieutenant Charles Stewart Bell, 37, who was killed, had served with the Natal Mounted Police at the Siege of Ladysmith during the South African War, thereafter in a mounted corps. After the war he joined the SA Railways service and was appointed as Native Labour Superintendent. Bell was on leave in England when the war began so returned to South Africa where he was commissioned in the Engineers and served in SWA.

  The following morning Pipe-Major Sandy Grieve would pipe what remained of C Company out of the battle.

  *

  The early barrage caught the sleep-befuddled Boustead unawares.

  “There was a sudden alarm and dropping with sleep we fell in on the road after daylight, with orders to go back to the orchard and the woods. A barrage came down at that moment and of the thirty men now left out of the original two hundred and fifty in my company, four were wounded straight away.

  “I was blown across the road, and went back to the Bernafay dressing-station with a hole through my kilt and thigh. At the dressing-station I asked to go back to the line since the wound was clearly a light one, but the doctors said the wound was poisoned and this meant Etaples at least and possibly England.

  “My main relief at being hit was the chance to get some sleep. For five days and nights we had hardly slept at all and at times I was conscious of a longing to get hit anywhere to be able to sleep.”

  *

  Private Betteridge saw his battalion destroyed by the fearful bombardmen
t.

  “On the morning of the 18th, only 50 men of the 250 in B and C companies of the Scottish remained. They were mustered to join similarly depleted ranks of the 1st and 3rd regiments holding the wood. Some stray Highlanders from other regiments of the division were ordered to accompany our boys.

  “German shell fire rose to an unbelievable peak and many of these chaps never reached the front line itself, where they were woefully required to strengthen the depleted ranks. At that time, on the evening of the 18th, there were no officers to give orders, the few NCOs still alive carried on half stupid from fatigue and lack of sleep.

  “There were enough emergency rations collected from the haversacks of dead companions but hot meals and tea had not reached the wood for three days.

  “During the whole of the battering not a single telephone line was kept intact from the front line to battalion headquarters. Every important demand for replacements etc. had to be conveyed by runner. Only half of these messages reached their destination.

  “As mentioned earlier, I was one of the runners for C Company. That day I had been given orders to take with me into the wood a cook named ‘Geordie’. I never learnt his proper name.

  “The 18th will always remain in my memory as the worst of those five dreadful days. It seemed that the German gunners had increased tenfold. How anyone lived through that intense bombardment covering further German attacks is difficult to believe. This was the last night we held the wood. In all that time it had been impossible to bury our own or enemy dead who now numbered thousands, along the divisional front.

  “Colonel MacLeod had been wounded and Major Hunt was in charge at the Scottish battalion headquarters. In the afternoon, about 6 pm, in pouring rain, I was sent with Geordie, the ex-cook, to deliver a message to whoever I could find there who might be in charge of the remnants of the regiment. Owing to bursting gas-shells among the others, we had our gas masks on, most uncomfortable keeping the eyepieces clean in the rain.