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Dear
all
A hundred
years ago… this week, the Battle Of Loos (September 25-October 14) in northern
France began with a British onslaught following four days of artillery
bombardment. It was co-ordinated with French attacks in Champagne-Ardenne which
had rather more success, though the whole effort failed to “restore a war of
movement”, as preferred by some of the generals. Notably, at Loos the British
Army used poison gas (chlorine) for the first time. In these early days of what
became known overall as the Third Battle Of Artois, casualties began their rise
towards eventual official totals of 48,230 French, 61,713 British and 51,100
German.
Elsewhere, Russia had an unusual week of
success driving the Germans back around Pinsk and Lutsk (now Belarus) and the
Austrians in Rovno (now Ukraine). And in the region around Gallipoli, Bulgaria
struck a somewhat ambiguous “armed neutrality” agreement with Turkey (September
25) and Greece began mobilising on the Allied side (23) as the Turkish Army in
Syria made preparations to attack Egypt.
Meanwhile... 12 months on from joining up, the
thousand men of the 2/1st City Of London Battalion, Royal
Fusiliers, including my father, Lance Corporal Signaller Sam
Sutcliffe, his brother Ted (still secretly underage at 17
and 18), and their pals from Edmonton, north London, set sail for Gallipoli,
their first battle…
FOOTSOLDIERSAM
SPEAKS
Last week, Sam
encountered anticipatory fear for the first time, admitting he was “scared
windy”. But he got a grip on it, settling into what he thought of as “the
perpetual awareness of danger, which wild creatures display at all times”.
Thus, he believed, he might present a “normal” appearance to his comrades no
matter what.
So, when administrative officers removed his brother from the
troopship on the docks at Alexandria (September 17, by one account, but
possibly a few days later), at first he felt bereft… then glad that Ted might
be spared and “remain in Egypt for the duration of the war”.
When they’d left the harbour he checked his massive load of
equipment – it weighed around 90 pounds, he reckoned, with all the signalling
gear – noting, with his poor boy’s attention to eating possibilities, “a can containing a block of solidified methylated
spirit which could be made into a burner, and “iron rations” comprising a bag
of small, hard biscuits, single packets of beef cubes, tea and sugar, and a can
of Maconochie’s stewed beef – this last, one of that war’s great successes. To
broach these rations without the permission of an officer was a serious crime;
they were to be used in grave extremity only”. In the same prudent spirit, he writes that when meals
aboard concluded, “What bread I, and others around me, couldn’t eat, I stored
in any space in haversack or pack. Stew couldn’t be so readily saved… But I
picked out leftover pieces of meat, dried them off, wrapped them up tightly in
an oilskin cap cover… – scheming about any steps I could take to improve my
survival prospects”.
Exploring the ship, a former cattle boat without sleeping
accommodation, they found it “armed” with a fake gun, actually a telegraph
pole, “a contraption which might mislead and scare an enemy
lookout man, provided he had faulty eyesight or a dirty telescope. A thousand
men at risk because some daft idiot at the Admiralty didn’t prepare for a war
which all but he knew was coming…”
After a couple of days, they entered “a perfect natural harbour”,
Mudros, on the Greek island Lemnos, the Allies’ Navy base for the Gallipoli
campaign. There my father and another Signaller, following orders, spent this
hiatus at anchor offering rather unwelcome “help” to the ship’s officer of the
watch.
But soon they were on their way, preparing to transfer to another
vessel, given “on active service” postcards to tell their families they were
alive if little else – nobody had told them where they were going anyway,
though of course they knew. Sam wrote vividly about what went on, inside out.
This is a long passage, although I’ve edited it down heftily from the Memoir –
but I think the intensity of these hours, which my father recalled in such
detail 50 years later have to be given their due:
‘This set the tension mechanism really racing – although I
flattered myself no one knew about that. If a boy like me tried to assume the
cool, steady demeanour of a man in full control of his emotions, then an older
chap might behave with gaiety, perhaps sing a few lines of a bawdy song, or
take the micky out of a mate who was the usual butt of his jokes. The thing not
to do was stay silent and look gloomy – that way you would be labelled “windy”
and lose all your pals. You had to consider that others might be feeling worse
than you, but they didn’t let it show. So it may be that battles fought
inwardly to preserve the good opinion of one’s fellows made possible some of
the bigger victories on the battlefield…
One man who simply
had to win the personal inward struggle was the commissioned officer in charge
of men in the front line. This subject I’d heard debated many a time; I don’t
recall discussions about the deeper feelings of fellow rankers, but officers
being a class apart, loved or hated, we expected them to act as the leaders
they had set themselves up to be. If they had their men’s good will, they
carried all our hopes that, in action, we would acquit ourselves well together…
One of those
smaller ships came alongside…
Much too soon for
my liking, we were ploughing through a choppy sea. One minute it seemed safe
and quiet in harbour, the next out here in a small ship on a grey, cheerless
day, bound for God knows what. Tired out, I slipped out of my heavy equipment
and, with pack for a pillow, soon stretched out on the deck and forgot fears
and fancies in deep sleep. [Then when] a wave lapped over the side, splashed
around me and made me jump… I found a more sheltered place near the stern where
I joined a chap leaning on the rail there. It was too dark for me to identify
him. General chat became more detailed after a while, when I remarked that I’d
be happier, perhaps, if somebody had told me what we were up to.
This man did tell
me – and thus whipped up inner tension to its highest level so far: “We are
going ashore at a place where landings commenced some time ago. Unfortunately,
that lot haven’t done as well as hoped for. There are big hills quite a short
distance from the beach and our chaps should by now be on the far side of them,
but they’re not. We go ashore tonight, advance through their lines and try to
get to what was their objective. I don’t like it, but we can only do our best.”*
By then, I realised
he was an officer, and I remember surmising to myself that he must have felt
deep anxiety and, perhaps, loneliness to have been moved to confide in a young
ranker… Still leaning on the rail, I tried to envisage the probable course of
events during the hours of darkness now commencing…
That this small
ship’s course ran surprisingly close to the shore was revealed only too clearly
when a burst of rifle fire had me scurrying to the sea side of the ship. I
believed I could see, darker than the general darkness, the top of a cliff
mass. Yes, and the sounds of desultory rifle fire came from up there. No
bullets zinged past, though, so we were not the target.
Word passed around
for all to be ready to disembark and I donned my load, message case, field
transmitter, rifle and all… Whether excitement or fear brought it on I don’t
know, but I suddenly felt terribly hungry. Then I recalled that I had not eaten
since early morning. Nor, as far as I know, had any of our men. Someone had
blundered. Or was it usual to land troops on a battlefield with empty bellies?
The sound of the
ship’s engines changed. We four H Company Signallers stood shoulder to shoulder
with the others awaiting the next move.
As Lance Corporal
in charge of our small group… I located our Captain and resolved to keep close
to him and to have my mates close to me… but as to Signallers he knew nothing,
nor did he seem to wish to. “I can send messages by word of mouth,” he told me
when jammed together, as we all were on that small ship. We four appeared to be
crowding him in that darkness. Proximity to the scent of power boosted my
confidence sufficiently for me to disregard any intended rebuff. I’d had my
training, I felt that I knew my job, and perhaps felt sorry that the Captain
did not appreciate our role…
Our small ship
carried G and H Companies, and each assembled without fuss on its appointed
side of the boat. Where the dark cliff had towered above us, I now saw the
lighter colour of the sky. Across a wider stretch of water than earlier, on
land rifles fired continuously and artillery lit up the blackness, each flash
followed by a bang, a shriek or a strange whine which often increased in volume
then ended up in a big explosion. Guns were being fired with intent to kill and
here was my first experience of warfare.
I heard the engine
of another vessel chugging nearby for several minutes until it bumped against
our ship’s side, a lighter of some sort… a voice from the lighter quietly
instructed us to “Move across carefully when your turn comes. Watch the rise
and fall, then step across.” I soon found myself at the edge trying earnestly
to estimate the right moment… I forced myself across the slight gap and the
weight of my body and all my equipment carried me forward. It was difficult to
avoid crashing into men ahead of me, but this I managed somehow and then braced
myself to steady the next oncoming bloke.
Its deck, I found,
was metal – as were the tips and heels of our Army boots, so retaining a good
foothold presented difficulties. The chaps around me did afford some support,
but they were not to be leant against or grabbed, as their remarks quickly made
clear…
A howl became a
shriek, then a shattering explosion – and a short silence was followed by
numerous thuds as what had gone up came down on the nearby beach. While still
at sea I heard for the first time that sad, though urgent call,
“Stretcher-bearers!” A tightening of the gut and clamping together of the jaws
accompanied an inner alarm which then and many times afterwards seemed to
produce an acid-like smell on hands and other parts of the body.
The lighter moved
in closer and our Sergeant Major’s voice came clear above all other sounds,
“Take your turn! Go quickly down the ramp, then form two ranks and follow your
leader!” As we faced the shore it seemed that rifle fire came mainly from
half-left and a fair distance away. But from a wider range of positions came
artillery fire.
With some relief I
formed the opinion that the troops who made the first landing had done a good
job in clearing the Turks from the beach, but I soon discovered that the
occasional sniper had stayed behind to harass and scare by the uncertainty he
created. As I took my turn down the ramp, I heard a quiet chat going on between
our Company officer and someone ashore. Without pause, in pairs, we followed
our leader on to the beach – the while he continued his conversation with the
stranger.
We moved uphill for
a while, veered right just before reaching the top of a ridge, and shuffled
along on this fairly steep slope, left leg bent, t’other extended, an awkward
progress, overloaded as I was. When our leader stopped and squatted, we all did
likewise along the line. “Stay well below the ridge top and await orders,” was
the next instruction passed along.
I was in a full
tizzy of excitement having been primed by my confiding officer on the ship to
expect immediate and violent action. However, when we stayed there for some
while, pangs of hunger became pressing – we had not eaten since early morning.
In a fairly loud voice, which I hoped would reach our officer’s ears, I said I
was starving. “Quiet!” came a reproof, but muttering spread along the line,
confirming that others also felt empty. A word of mouth message passed from man
to man brought a junior officer over and he explained that no rations had been
issued since we left the island harbour. Rightly or wrongly, he agreed that we
should start on our iron rations.
Fortunate the ridge
concealed us, for we were soon lighting our little methylated stoves to heat
water in our mess tins. Into this we dropped beef cubes and some of the small,
hard biscuits. With this below our belts we felt stronger. I set about chewing
dry biscuits as well. A swig from my water bottle, and I felt twice the man.’
* According to the
biography of their (soon to be) commanding officer Harry Nathan, my father’s
Battalion landed at Suvla Bay, Gallipoli, on September 25, 1915 – a Saturday
that week – joining the 88th Brigade of the 29th Division.
All
the best – FSS
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