- October 4-8, 1914
- 'Antwerp Adventure'
- by Rev. Canon H. Clapham Foster, M.A.
- Temporary Chaplain to the Royal Navy
Shells and Burning Oil
The author of this lively account of the stand made by the British Naval Division in the defence of Antwerp was a padre attached to the 2nd Naval Brigade. As such he shared the adventures of the men, and most graphically describes the heroic resistance which ended in inevitable retirement
- left : British armored car entering Antwerp
- right : in the trenches near Lierre
The news that we were to leave immediately for France spread very quickly round the camp, and among the men there was a scene of boundless enthusiasm ; loud cheers were raised as they hastily dressed and got their kits together. There was no time to lose. Breakfast was at seven a.m., and at eight we were told the transport would be ready to convey our baggage to Dover. The Second Royal Naval Brigade started on the march to the pier at about nine a.m., amid scenes of great enthusiasm, two brass bands and a- drum and fife band accompanying them. The men selected some curious words for their own special "marching songs," and these are, as a rule, set to familiar melodies. It would have astonished, not to say shocked, the Salvation Army had they heard the following words sung to a hymn tune when passing a public-house:
- There's a man selling beer over there;
- There's a man selling beer over there:
- Over there, over there, over there, over there -
- There's a man selling beer over there.
Another favourite ditty with men on the march is a song with a somewhat unsavoury refrain:
- Wash me in the water
- Where you wash your dirty daughter,
- And I shall be whiter than the white-wash on the wall.
This song is sung by all regiments, and it would be interesting to find out who originally invented it.
Singing such ditties as these, we marched from Betteshanger to Dover. We were accorded a magnificent reception in the streets by crowds of people who cheered lustily and waved flags and handkerchiefs as we made our way to the pier. At about five o'clock our men commenced the somewhat dreary task of getting the baggage on board. We took with us, besides "field kit," our base kit, and first-line-of-transport kit. At about 9.30 we were ready to sail, so well had the men worked.
In a short time we were under way and slowly sailing out of Dover Harbour. It was a strange, not to say uncanny, sensation to be leaving one's native land on active service for the first time.
Our escort, consisting of two destroyers, kept close to us during the whole of the night. The voyage, however, proved to be uneventful, and at about 4 a.m. on Monday, October 5, we anchored off Dunkerque.
For eight weary hours we lay off Dunkerque, awaiting orders, in a choppy sea. At last a French destroyer came alongside and a somewhat portly French naval officer shouted through a megaphone that we were "to proceed into harbour" and moor at the quay. It was just about noon when we entered.
landing in Ostend - a hand-colored photo
Those were stirring days - the "Tipperary" days we might call them - and the war was but two months old. The cheers from troops and civilians on shore, re-echoed by a thousand throats on our transport, stirred the emotions, and will live in the memories of those who heard them to the end of life. But the most moving incident of all was when our brass band came up on deck and played the "Marseillaise"; nothing delighted the French more than this little compliment, and they cheered again and again as the ship moored at the quay.
Our actual destination, so far, had been unknown, but on getting to the quay we were told that we were to entrain for Antwerp immediately, to take part in the defence of the city.
The first train did not leave the quay until 10.45 p.m., with the Nelson and Howe battalions. We had but little food, and that consisted of bully beef and biscuits, with nothing to drink.
Each man received 120 rounds of ammunition before getting into the train, and our Commandant, Lieut.-Colonel George Cornwallis West, addressed us. He said there was a possibility of the train being attacked in the night, that it was uncertain as to whether or not the railway line had been cut by the Germans. "Remember you are British," he said in conclusion, "and I am sure you will give a good account of yourselves." A tremendous cheer greeted this remark, and it echoed and re-echoed through the lofty sheds on the quay.
The men, weary with their labours and the long wait, tumbled into the troop train with evident joy, in spite of the fact that the journey might be fraught with danger and uncertainty ... At about 2 a.m. on Tuesday, October 6, we crossed the Belgian frontier. At all the smaller stations on the line, in spite of the early hour, crowds had turned out to greet us. At the more important stations, such as Dixmude and Thielt, large numbers of people brought the men presents of fruit and cakes. Sometimes the train would stop out in the country, where there was no station near, but from a small cottage an old peasant woman would come tripping out with a monstrous jug of hot coffee, with which she regaled the men. All along the line we received the same royal reception.
There were signs about 9 a.m. that we were drawing near to a large and important town. So far our journey had been passed amidst peaceful surroundings, but now, as we looked out of the carriage windows, we saw quite plainly the first signs that a war was really being waged. Shrapnel could be seen bursting quite distinctly in the vicinity of Antwerp, and two captive balloons were up in the sky directing the German fire. Hundreds of Belgians were busily engaged, on both sides of the line, in constructing entrenchments, and many fields had been flooded to put a check on the German advance.
The Marine Brigade of the Royal Naval Division, composed almost entirely of regular troops, had reached Antwerp on the night of October 3. Never have war-worn warriors been more delighted to be relieved than were the Belgians when the Marines took over the trenches facing Lierre, and enabled them to get a much-needed and well-deserved re3t. Armoured trains, with gun-crews formed of British bluejackets, got into action on October 4 and did excellent work. We of the 1st and 2nd Naval Brigades were due to enter Antwerp on the evening of October 5, but the unfortunate delay at Dunkerque meant that we arrived some twelve hours late.
October 6, the very day on which we arrived in Antwerp, was a momentous day in the history of "the second strongest fortress in Europe," and what happened then really brought about the fall of the city earlier than the Belgians expected.
During the day, after a fluctuating night engagement, the exhausted Belgians were driven back by the enemy in a furious assault from the direction of Lierre, backed by powerful artillery. The Marine Brigade, which had continued to hold its position most gallantly and against overwhelming odds, was unable to do anything else but follow suit.
It will be seen, therefore, that the 1st and 2nd Naval Brigades really arrived too late to attempt to save Antwerp, because the Germans had now established themselves on ground from which they were able to bombard the city with their powerful howitzers with the greatest ease, to meet which we had only the few naval guns at our disposal and the small guns on the forts in the inner ring.
British troops in Antwerp
We arrived in Antwerp shortly before 10 a.m. on Tuesday, October 6. We were met at a suburban station by the civic guard and several important officials - and then came our march through the streets. It is impossible to say whether or not the people looked upon us as the saviours of their city, but we shall never forget the reception they gave us. Charming Belgian maidens pinned little flags made of silk on to our tunics, and attempted to embrace two of our officers, greatly to their embarrassment and confusion. Large jugs of light beer were brought out of houses, from which the men filled anything that would hold liquid. The scene was one of indescribable enthusiasm, but all the time the distant boom of guns sounded on our ears, and seemed to strike a warning note, telling us that, though it was fine then, the storm might burst at any moment. We marched about four miles to a place on the outskirts of the city, where we had a most welcome rest. The officers were billeted out for their meals to various houses.
I found myself in a house where the only occupants appeared to be three old ladies, who could not speak a word of English. I made them understand, however, that I was ravenously hungry ; the table was quickly set, and I was provided with a delicious omelette and some fried ham, with a bottle of light beer to wash it down. Afterwards, feeling in need of a sleep, I went upstairs to a bedroom and was soon in peaceful slumber, in spite of the boom of guns, which every hour seemed to be drawing nearer.
After a glorious sleep of about two hours, I was suddenly awakened by a loud knocking at the door and a voice shouting something in Flemish. The voice sounded rather agitated, and I expected at least that the enemy had broken through, and that a German officer was about to walk upstairs and demand my instant surrender! It transpired, however, that the Brigade had fallen in and was about to move off. Rested and refreshed, we marched away, amidst renewed cheering, to further excitement.
A march of some five miles brought us to the village of Vieux-Dieu, a quaint spot on the confines of the city. Here we halted and were told that we were to rest a short time before going up to the firing line.
We were told that we were to be quartered for the night in an old chateau, standing in its own grounds and surrounded by trees. There was abundant evidence that its occupants had been wealthy people, and that they had fled away in haste. There was a quantity of valuable furniture, and we found everything just as its late owner had left it.
We ascertained that one of the servants belonging to the house was still at her home in the village, and after a good deal of persuasion we succeeded in getting her to come and cook some supper for us. Those of us who are still alive will not readily forget the scene in that old room of the chateau. There we sat round the table, a light being supplied by a candle stuck securely in the neck of an empty bottle, eating like the gourmands who haunt Simpson's in the Strand and other famous eating-houses. Plates and forks were scarce, but, pocket-knives came in exceedingly handy. The windows had been plastered up with brown paper so as not to let out a single streak of light.
There sat such well-known personages as Lieut.-Colonel George Cornwallis West, Arthur Asquith, Denis Browne and Rupert Brooke, eating pieces of veal with their fingers and drinking coffee out of tumblers and milk jugs.
At the bottom of the garden which surrounded this chateau was one of the Antwerp forts, and so sleep was practically impossible, as the guns were cracking out every few minutes, shaking the house to its very foundations. Not far off the six-inch naval guns were also speaking with no uncertain voice, while every now and then the whistle of the enemy's shells was distinctly heard, followed by the sound of distant explosions.
digging trenches around Antwerp
Trenches and Forts Useless
At 2 a.m. next day (Wednesday, October 7) we were awakened by a Belgian officer and were told to fall in at once and leave for the front trenches. We had a most romantic march in the darkness to Fort No. 7, one of the forts on the inner ring. It was a calm, still night, and the men marched along quietly, having been warned of the serious nature of the task in front of them. At dawn we reached our destination and for the first time saw the trenches that were to be our home for only two days. These open trenches had been cleverly constructed by the Belgians, but they would have proved utterly useless had they been subjected to a violent bombardment. They linked up the forts of the inner ring, which were fifty years old and mounted with inferior Krupp guns.
Our trenches were at the end of a large turnip field, and about 150 yards behind them there was a modern villa, surrounded by a pretty garden. It was empty and devoid of furniture, and in this house the doctor and I were installed and were told to transform it into a hospital. A meal was just about to be prepared in the kitchen of our new home, when the Fleet Surgeon came to tell us to clear out of it immediately, because as a hospital it was quite unsafe, and might be shelled at any moment.
We took up our abode finally in a bomb-proof shelter, or dug-out, some twelve feet long by six feet wide, the roof being formed of steel plates an inch thick laid on strong iron girders.
It was a pitch dark night and very cold. Suddenly the alarm was given and our men opened fire. I went out into the open and watched. There were our men blazing away and peering into the inky blackness of the night. Shells began to burst all round us. I only just had time to run under cover when a shrapnel shell burst over us.
No one can say definitely what happened, except that some Deutschers had evidently crossed the river and were detected while making a reconnaissance. . . , There were several other alarms along the line held by the Naval Division during the night, but the fighting never actually got to close quarters.
During the first surprise attack, seven Belgian gunners in the fort close to us were killed. We were fortunate in having very few casualties, and they were mainly slight shrapnel wounds. The men had kept remarkably cool during a trying experience, and were only disappointed that no opportunity for using their bayonets had come their way. The brunt of the Antwerp fighting came undoubtedly on the Marines, and it is impossible to speak too highly of the courage and bravery they displayed while holding their part of the line against the repeated onslaughts of the enemy. They were called upon to stand and face heavier shelling than either of the two Naval brigades, and their grit and devotion to duty set us all a noble example.
When Thursday, October 8, dawned, both officers and men looked exhausted and fagged out. Stores were getting somewhat low, and for breakfast we had each a tin mug of coffee, one biscuit, a piece of bread, and a small bit of cheese.
It was evident that the German artillery had advanced considerably nearer during the night. I went up into an observation post and saw quite distinctly, with the aid of field-glasses, German gunners getting a heavy gun into position. The scream of shells overhead never ceased, and we got so accustomed to it as not to notice it.
Shortly after midday dense clouds of black smoke began to ascend into the sky, darkening the sun and the whole horizon for miles, until it began to be more like evening than noonday. Inquiry elicited the fact that these huge columns of smoke came from the petroleum tanks at Hoboken, which had been set ablaze by the Belgians themselves in order to prevent the Germans getting hold of one of the largest stores of petroleum in the world.
British troops boarding one of the last trains to leave Antwerp
Days of Despair
Meanwhile, the sound of the German guns seemed to have come closer, and shells began to burst unpleasantly near. Some parts of the line held by the Naval Division suffered heavier bombardment than others, but so are luckily for us, most of the shells were, as the men put it, "non-stop for Antwerp."
It is, perhaps, somewhat difficult for those who were not there to imagine the utter hopelessness and despair of the men who had been sent with the intention of defending Antwerp. Unknown to us, the fate of Antwerp was decided before we arrived
We had absolutely nothing with which we could reply to the German siege batteries. All that we could do seemed to be to wait as calmly as we could for the end.
About five o'clock darkness was setting in. Antwerp was seen to be on fire in some quarters. Our baggage party arrived and said that the railway station at Wilryck, in which our baggage had been stored, was in flames. This tragic piece of news made many an officer draw a long face as he proceeded to enumerate the various articles of value he had tucked away in his valise, which he was never to see again.
The doctor and I had been sitting in our dug-out for a time, wondering what would happen next, when the drum-major put his head in at one of the openings and exclaimed in a low tone: "We have to clear out immediately, sir, as we are almost cut off on all sides, and they intend using their heavy guns against us tonight."
Our men loathed the idea of a retreat, but the majority realized that every minute the position was becoming more critical and that immediate retreat was our only hope of escaping capture.
Almost all the Belgians had gone, except those in the forts, and in our covering fort only one Belgian gunner remained. One of our naval gun crews gallantly offered to remain and work the guns in order to cover our retreat, which they did up to the very last minute.
In order to cross the Scheldt, we were forced to pass by the blazing petroleum tanks at Hoboken. The road was narrow, but it was the only road left. The fumes were overpowering and the intense heat proved too much for some of the men. The flames at times blew right across the road, and large German shells were falling in amongst the tanks at the rate of four a minute. Sometimes a shell would burst with a terrific report in the boiling oil, and flames shot up to the height of two hundred feet.
As we approached the blazing tanks it was like entering the infernal regions. The burning oil had flooded a field on one side of the road and dead horses and cattle were frizzling in it.
"Now, boys," shouted an officer, "keep your heads and run through it!"
And we did - but I don't know how we did it. Once we had got past the oil tanks we were in comparative safety for a hundred yards because the road was sheltered, but then for some thousand yards it was exposed again to the enemy's fire.
We were ordered to run at the double over this bit of road, and most of us were fortunate enough to reach the pontoon bridge over the river. A spy was caught by one of our battalions in the act of trying to blow up this bridge, but his designs were frustrated just in time, and a bayonet ended his career.
Sentries were posted at intervals while we went across, and shouted "Change your step!" every few yards. At last we were safely on the other side and breathed again. The relief felt by all ranks on getting across the river can hardly be imagined, and, although even there we were by no means out of danger, yet we knew that a most important step had been taken.
from a British magazine
Inglorious End of the Antwerp Adventure
Not all the men of the Naval Brigade got safely away from Antwerp. Nearly 1,500 crossed into Holland and were interned at Groeningen. Above, men of the R.N.V.R. are settling down for four years in a concentration camp. Below is the last train to leave Antwerp on October 9 and get safely away. Luckily for those who could only find seats on the roofs of the carriages there were no tunnels to be passed through. The next train was attacked by the Germans and most of the passengers were captured.
Britsh naval brigade troops interned in the Netherlands
