The Seventh Manchesters by S. J. Wilson (top ten ebook reader .txt) 📕

for many miles in all

directions. This was the ridge over which the Huns had swarmed in March,

to be thrown back again, after a severe dispute, by the newly arrived

Anzacs, so that the present position was good for us but poor for

“Jerry.” Hebuterne was the culminating point of a very pronounced Hun

salient, and our line swept round in a noticeable curve from the corner

of Bucquoy to Beaumont Hamel, almost touching the south-eastern edge of

the village. Looking north was the famous ground where Gommecourt had

once stood. In 1917 the French had decided that Gommecourt should be

preserved in its battle-scarred state as a national monument, for the

blood of many brave soldiers had there been shed during the fierce Somme

fighting of 1916. Notices were put up, huge white boards with black

printing in French and English, enjoining no one to interfere with the

trenches and wire, etc., but to leave things just as they were. Oh, the

irony of it! Here was the Hun again pounding, pounding with fierce wrath

and insistent desire to smash his way through. Those self-same notices

were shell-shattered, while in his zeal to destroy the dug-outs which he

knew so well in Gommecourt, for he had made them, he dropped, in one

morning, more than thirty 15-inch shells in the village. To the right of

Gommecourt could be seen the naked stumps of Rossignol Wood, a beautiful

name reminiscent of delightful summer evenings. But the song of the

nightingale was now gone, and the only tunes to be heard were the deadly

rat-tat-tat of Boche machine guns and the fierce hissing of our shrapnel

bullets through the decayed undergrowth, the time for this devil’s

music being regularly thundered out by the crash, crash, of heavy

howitzers.

 

East of our ridge, and parallel to it, was a long gentle valley. In the

old days the Germans had been content to build their trenches half-way

up the eastern slope, and the French had faced them on the opposite

side, but now the Huns in the foolish arrogance of their hearts must

needs swarm over the whole valley, and offer themselves and their works

as targets for our searching gunfire. On the summit of their ridge and

due east of Hebuterne is Puisieux-au-Mont, in almost the same condition

of devastation as Gommecourt, while further beyond, the trees of Achiet

can be seen. During the summer months those who wished could reckon up

the times of arrival and departure of trains at the German railhead at

Achiet, for the smoke from the engines could be distinctly observed.

Night after night our planes droned heavily over to the accompaniment of

wonderful displays of “flaming onions,” parachute flares, searchlights,

and anti-aircraft gunfire, and bombed these back areas with

demoralising effect. Further along the enemy ridge to the right, and

closer in, was what the trench maps grimly described as “Serre (site

of).” If you want testimony of the complete destructive power of British

shell-fire, go to Serre. The roads round about were marked on these

maps, but ironically labelled “Damaged by shell-fire.” I think the word

“obliterated,” openly admitted in the case of one or two, would have

applied to all. In other words the whole terrain bore the traces of the

thunderous days of 1916, and nothing of value was left standing. Thus,

when keen observers set their maps and scanned the low ground for Mark

Copse, Luke Copse, Touvent Farm, Observation Wood, or Red Cottage, there

was nothing visible. It was all a myth. Further south the masses of

white chalk thrown up by the historic crater at Beaumont Hamel were

useful for they served as a landmark and helped to locate other points

of interest.

 

Compared with the enemy we were in a relatively happy position. The

ridge which contained the front line shielded all the immediate back

area from direct observation, so that even the garrisons of the support

trenches could wander about in the open, while if there was “nothing

doing,” the men back in reserve could lie out in the long grass and bask

in the sunshine. This was all very comforting and relieved the strain of

war very considerably, but the advantages in the matter of organisation

were illimitable. Rations came up in the middle of the day, and the

limbers and water carts, in singles of course on account of balloon

observation, trundled up the road in the afternoon to a point within

four hundred yards of the front line! As the men put it “We were

laughing”—especially when the enemy once or twice attempted a relief

before darkness over their exposed ground, and were severely knocked

about for their pains.

 

But to return to Hebuterne and the days of our first acquaintance with

it. Many people were convinced that the Hun would attack again, and our

higher command had found support for this gloomy prospect amongst their

archives, so that we were enjoined to remain on the strictest qui vive.

The first day’s work consisted in re-organisation of the line, based

upon the principle of defence “in depth.” This meant that a battalion,

for instance, did not expose the whole of its personnel in the front

line to be obliterated in the first shock of attack, but they must be

disposed in the best tactical positions, with a slight garrison in front

and the remainder ranged along behind. Speaking very generally a unit

was made responsible for the defence of an area, and the principle of

defence was to hold it, not by successive lines of defence, but by a

series of mutually supporting posts arranged chequerwise and in depth.

This arrangement was intended to break up the enemy’s attack formation,

to stop parts of it and to allow other parts to advance, but to advance

only in such places as would make them most vulnerable to

counter-attack. This principle applied also down to the company and even

the platoon. It is easily seen that a good deal of organisation was

demanded from the battalion commander, while the smallest unit

commander, perhaps a lance-corporal, was left with much responsibility.

In view of the possibly impending attack, Hebuterne was hurriedly put

into a sound state of defence by the untiring energy of Gen. Henley and

his subordinates. Whilst all this was going on our patrolling was

excessively active, and every night No Man’s Land fell into our hands

right up to the enemy posts. If possible we were to “Snaffle a Hun” with

a view to identification and information about the supposed attack, and

when it was discovered that the Boche was too alert in spite of

persistent small attempts by the Manchesters and the L.F’s. this was

regarded as good proof by the attack theorists. However, nothing

materialised beyond the steady arrival of Boche shells of all calibres,

and we were not sorry.

 

When the brigade moved out into reserve the 7th had to dig themselves

into the earth near Chateau-de-la-Haie north of Sailly-au-Bois. In less

than twenty-four hours small groups of men had made a hole for

themselves, covered it with an elephant shelter, and camouflaged it with

sods. It was heavy work while it lasted, but it was necessary to work

quickly because of hostile aircraft. A neighbouring battery of

60-pounders were righteously indignant at our invasion, but still the

staff said we were to go there, and there we went. On the other hand it

was by no means comforting to realise that once the Hun spotted the

60-pounders we should be partakers in the unwelcome attention that would

probably follow, so we were quits anyhow. Luckily the enemy did not see

us, or he was displaying a lofty contempt, for after five day’s

residence the battalion moved up into the line at Gommecourt, having had

no mishap. During this period our lists of “Bucquoy decorations” came

through, and they were very gratifying. In addition to the M.C’s.

already mentioned, Capt. Nidd and 2nd-Lt. Harland were similarly

rewarded for their work as company commanders. Sgt. McHugh, who had

acted as C.S.M. of “C” company, received a bar to his M.M., and Sgt.

Heath, who had died of wounds, was decorated in like manner.

Twenty-four other men received the Military Medal, their names being

recorded in the appendix at the end of the book.

 

On April 30th the new C.O., Lt.-Col. Manger, of the Durham L.I.,

arrived. A regular soldier of many years’ standing, he was pleased to be

sent again to a territorial battalion, for he had learnt the value of

these troops whilst commanding the 2nd 9th King’s Liverpool Regiment of

the 57th division. He joined the battalion at Gommecourt and Major

Higham immediately went down for a rest. There was very little of

outside interest during the succeeding days beyond the usual work of

consolidation and keeping the enemy under closest possible observation.

Still, the battalion was glad to be relieved on May 6th, the whole

division coming out for a good period of rest.

 

The 127th brigade were given camp areas around Henu, divisional

headquarters being at Pas. We made the most of these May weeks, filled

with delightful sunshine, and, as events worked out, it was as well we

did, for it was the last long rest period we were to get until after the

armistice. Important changes took place in the battalion about this

time. Major Higham and Capt. Townson, both pre-war officers of the 7th,

severed their active service connection with us by being invalided to

England, the former’s place being taken by Major Rae of the Liverpool

Scottish. Amongst a draft of officers that we received from a division

that had been broken on the fifth army front was Capt. Allen, M.C.,

whose original unit was the 6th Manchesters. He was put in command of

“A” company. R.S.M. Anlezark, of the 1st battalion, was posted to us for

duty, and A/R.S.M. Clough succeeded R.Q.M.S. Ogden, who had returned to

England after a long period of hard and useful work with the 7th. It was

not many weeks after this period of rest that another long-standing and

popular officer was lost to the 7th; this was Capt. Nidd, M.C. We had

always known that his grit and determination exceeded his physical

capacity, but his splendid sense of duty led him to ignore this fact,

although it was common knowledge that had he so wished he could have

been invalided out of the army long before. After severe trials on

Gallipoli, a campaign he went through from June to the evacuation (he

was one of the very few men to whom that evacuation was irksome), he had

had a relapse in hospital in Egypt for some weeks. The Bucquoy fight,

however, had proved too much for him, and he never really recovered from

the ill-effects of it. This was accentuated by the death of two of his

near and dear friends—Lt. W. Thorp for whom, as one of his subalterns,

he had a particular esteem, and Capt. Tinker. The latter was a pre-war

officer of the 7th, while Thorp had gone out to the Sudan in the ranks,

served through Gallipoli with distinction (vide Major Hurst’s book) and

then received a commission early in 1916. Capt. Tinker’s record with the

battalion was one of steady confidence. After being invalided to England

from a wound received on Gallipoli, he rejoined in Egypt in Feb. 1916,

and was immediately given command of “A” company. From that day he had

always been amongst us, and, except when on leave or on a course, he was

with his company, in the line or out of it. In fact, it was a record of

“full steam ahead” until the day he was killed amongst his men. What

Tinker was to “A” so was Nidd to “B” company, and his greatest regret,

when at last hospital claimed him, was in leaving the men whom he knew

so