- from 'T.P.'s Journal of Great Deeds,' April 24, 1915
- Fresh From The Firing Line
- A Soldier's Story of the Fight for Neuve Chapelle
The British Attack at Neuve Chapelle
British soldiers in the front-lines
Once again I am in comparatively safe quarters. During the last week my experiences have indeed been fearful. Doubtless you have read of the latest doings in these parts, so that it is more or less unnecessary for me to enlarge on matters; besides, I must keep this letter as small as possible, because our poor officers will have as much as they can manage to censor the tremendous amount of correspondence now being carried on.
One Tremendous Roar
On 10th March, reveille went at 1.30 in the morning, when we learnt that our turn had come for more work at the firing line. By 4 a.m. we had finished our march to ------ — , and were quartered in reserve trenches for the rest of the night. Things were comparatively quiet then, and we managed to get about one and a half hour's sleep before 8.30 a.m., when dozens of field guns (hitherto unused), which were carefully hidden all round about us, suddenly broke out with one tremendous roar, which kept up pretty well for the rest of the morning. The noise was terrific. The attack on Neuve Chapelle had started.
A little later news came through that so far things had gone most satisfactorily, and the objective of the day practically accomplished. Accordingly, we moved up as support, taking ammunition with us. The first column of men had not gone far before a shell burst, killing one of our majors and wounding about sixteen other fellows, some very seriously. The sight of wounded men limping along to the dressing station and stretchers passing had become almost too common a sight to cause any stir, but when we saw our own chums coming along under those conditions, we began to realise what a fearful sight it was. About tea-time the cannonade from both sides had ceased considerably, and we once again advanced a little nearer the deadly conflict.
Running the Gauntlet
In one of the trenches we had taken (I mean our front line of men) about a score of Germans had in some way or other managed to get concealed. At once they opened fire on our advancing party, and to avoid their treacherous assault we had to lie flat in the middle of the road. My captain told me off to take a message up to one of our majors, who was some 300 yards in advance of us, so I had to get up and run for it. At last, after many narrow squeaks from shells and bullets, I reached him, and after some little delay received my instructions and returned. My next duty was to act guide to the rest of our party, who were laden up with heavy ammunition boxes and maxim guns. What with the continual stream of wounded men and troops going out and returning, it was an extremely difficult job to get along, but at last we arrived safely.
At the point where we left the trench there was no proper outlet, so everyone had to clamber up the slippery embankment — a job not to be envied when carrying half a hundredweight of ammunition ! Accordingly, I had to help all the fellows out; after all I had done and the awful sights I had seen, together with the absurd amount of food I had taken (three biscuits and a slice of bacon), I felt pretty well exhausted at the end of it all. We still had some little way to go before we had orders to dig ourselves in some few yards behind the reserve trenches. Fancy digging a bed out in the open on a cold March night!
Unimaginable Climax of Noise
Early the next morning we again advanced, after having quite a decent breakfast, considering the conditions. For some time we lay in the open, shielded by the trench in front, but matters became so hot that we had again to make extra cover.
One of my pals got laid out in the first advance, getting two bullets from a shrapnel shell, one in his shoulder and the other in the foot. Some fellows pulled him safely into a trench and bound him up. By this time it was quite dark, and we were about to be relieved by another battalion. Marching through the night, we at last reached one of our old billets at 4.30 a.m. Here we indulged in a drink of hot tea and a small tot of rum. At 7 a.m. we again moved off to other billets some four miles away. We slept soundly till about dinner-time — our first "sleep" for three or four days. We "stood by" all the following day, and in the afternoon again moved away from the danger zone, reaching our present billet comparatively early in the evening.
The Fellows were Splendid
It would be a perfectly simple job., to write a book of incidents describing the grit and determination with which the encounter of Neuve Chapelle was carried out, but, of course, I must confine my remarks to some of the most conspicuous acts of bravery, as both time and space are limited. The fellows were splendid, and the usually underrated Indians showed their true worth in a most heroic and unselfish manner. One of our chaps, while advancing, got laid low after taking a few steps from the back trench; immediately a fellow in our company rushed out to see what assistance he could offer, only to fall for the last time just as he had reached his objective. This is only one — a typical story — of many, many acts of self- sacrificing bravery witnessed during that never-to-be-forgotten battle. Stretchers being in great demand, several pretty serious cases had So be carried off under heavy fire, and no end of instances could be recalled to illustrate the pluck and endurance of the average Tommy in this direction. I saw many fellows carrying their comrades over the heavy ground to places of comparative safety, and in some cases, where such a method would be painful to the patient, two would assist.
Narrow Squeaks
Of narrow squeaks I saw several striking instances; in fact, I am fortunate to be able to record a near shave myself, although there are several that could be mentioned even nearer than mine. Just as we were advancing a shrapnel fell not ten yards away,, killing outright three men and wounding two others, one of whom was standing (or, rather, running) immediately in front of me. A bullet from this same shell struck my pack, missing the back of my head by inches. Everything in my pack bears holes as souvenirs of this wonderful escape. Another fellow in our company had his big jack-knife smashed completely by a bullet which entered his top left-hand pocket — this undoubtedly saved his life. The tale of the Bible in a pocket saving life in a similar way is rather hackneyed now, but we did actually have one such case. Now I must stop, and have some thought for the Censor, who, I know, is working like a Trojan on our letters.
firing a British howitzer
