For details of how to buy Sam’s full Memoir* in
paperback or e-book & excerpted Gallipoli
& Somme episode mini-e-books & reader
reviews see right-hand column
All proceeds to the British Red Cross
Dear all
A hundred years ago this week… Activity
everywhere, meaning from Ukraine down to Mesopotamia. Politically, USA edged
closer to a war declaration when President Wilson decreed that merchant ships
could arm themselves on the day a U-boat sank the freighter SS Algonquin off the Scilly Isles (March
12).
But
on the Western Front, you might have imagined that Germany was preparing for
surrender as the strange spell of planned retreat to the Hindenburg Line
continued so slickly that often the British and French took swathes of
territory without much or any resistance. Concluding the “Operations On The
Ancre”, the British advanced around Le Transloy and occupied Loupart Wood and
Grevillers (March 12/13) en route to taking Bapaume and, moving south of the
Somme, Fresnes (17), and progressing rapidly on a 45-mile front from Chaulnes
to Arras (18). The French Army surged forward similarly on a 40-mile front,
gaining Roye, Lassigny, Noyon, Nesle and Guiscard (17-18).
During
the week, the Russians lost their Czar, Nicholas II, by abdication (March 15)
and his successor – his brother – a day later, as the Revolution picked up
speed with riots in the streets and a Navy mutiny (16). But the Army carried on
fighting. Though beaten back in Ukraine (12), it continued its successes down
in western Persia, taking Alliabad and Kerind from the Turks (16-17).
At
that point the Turks decided to quit on their Persian campaign. Their 15,000
force headed west to meet up with their Mesopotamian Army of 10,000. But by
then the British were following up the taking of Baghdad by pursuing the
Ottoman Army briskly north by means of the railway (March 13-April 23; the
Samarrah Offensive).
Battling
in Macedonia, north of Salonika, especially around Monastir saw Allies Britain,
France and Italy taking on Austrians and Bulgarians, with all making gains in
different sectors (March 12-18). The Austrian Army also had a rare success in
northern Italy, breaking through defences in the San Pellegrino valley (16;
Dolomites).
Meanwhile, my father, under-age 2/1st Royal Fusiliers volunteer and Gallipoli
veteran (FootSoldierSam’s Blogs dated September 20, 2015, to January 3, 2016) Lance
Corporal Sam Sutcliffe from
Edmonton, north London, had fought on the Somme Front with his second outfit the
Kensingtons (Blogs
dated May 15 to September 25, 2016)… until
officialdom told him they’d noticed his age – 18 on July 6, legally too young
for the battlefield – and that he could take a break from the fighting until
his 19th birthday. So he did, though not without an enduring sense of guilt. Via
Harfleur and London, he ended up posted to Harrogate, Yorkshire, and re-allocated
again, this time to the Essex Regiment 2/7th Battalion, along with a bunch of
other under-age Tommies for months of training until they severally became
eligible for the trenches once more. However, for some, including Sam, all
military activity was halted by some weeks in a hospital isolation unit because
of a meningitis outbreak. He didn’t develop the disease, but while there his
general health collapsed (the doctor’s diagnosis: the profound effects of trench
warfare)… The hospital brought him some physical recovery via old-fashioned
“feeding up” and a restorative Boy Scout-innocent romance with a nurse…
FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS
Last week, Sam concluded a partial recovery
from the contrasting onslaughts of German measles and “war sickness” – but he
still carried the meningitis bacteria in his throat so he returned to the group
of underage pals caught in the same medical limbo, housed in another, cruder
“isolation unit” comprising two or three Army huts:
‘A real rest camp this, for we had to do no work at all.
Every moment of this unbelievably cushy existence had my sincere appreciation.
I never lost sight of what might have been my lot if I had remained in France;
my previous good luck over there must surely have deserted me by this time, so
every day’s blessings had to be counted.
The one female in
the joint was a 40ish rubicund lady nurse of the VAD**, a famous volunteer
nursing force. A kindly soul who blushed at the slightest compliment before I
left for the fever hospital, now, she walked about quite defiantly with the arm
of a lad young enough to be her son about her waist. Bless‘em both, they looked
remarkably happy, so what had at first appeared to be ridiculous became humdrum
and caused no comment. Possibly she regarded him as a son-figure but, knowing
the young rascal somewhat, I doubt if he fancied himself as her
pseudo-offspring, more as a potential father of such I’d say. I hope he didn’t
achieve his nefarious ends.
Finally, all germs killed – and a horrible end must have
been theirs, surrounded by that formaldehyde vapour which was hard enough for
us toughies to stomach – back to the Battalion we went. There, I made a fresh
effort to really become one of them. To achieve that aim, I carried out all orders
to the very best of my ability. But still I never felt “accepted”. This
complete Battalion which had so mysteriously remained in Britain*** –
presumably to defend the homeland, should our great Army in France be shattered
– formed a closed shop against us who had fought overseas.
None of us could
please our unhappy, unjust, unattractive Company officer, Captain Tarquin****.
A weird type, reputedly the son of a wealthy family, he had expensive uniforms,
yet he brought with him an aura of poverty – mental poverty, probably. His
batman slaved away at polishing his leather strappings and shoes, this example
conspicuously implying that the rest of us should do likewise. Some hope of
that! We just didn’t have the time to spare – and no chance of being provided
with batmen. The Captain had “avoiding” eyes and no valid claims to beauty with
his red nose against a background of pale skin and surly mouth whence his harsh
voice barked orders none too clearly. An almost childish, short temper
completes my picture of one officer, perhaps the only officer, to whom I felt
superior.
What a gift he had
for spreading gloom and despondency where all had been coarse gaiety before his
bleary-eyed mug fouled the scene. And then why did so many men say he was too
cowardly to be a Company leader? I never saw or heard of anything he undertook
that could be counted a test of his strength of character, yet his subordinates
despised him. It was freely forecast that when, if ever, he had to lead his men
in active service conditions, he would fold up. Two hundred or more men would,
in that event, fail to give of their best, perhaps die unnecessarily, or cause
the deaths of others.
Many of us who
thought so harshly of one Captain would possibly behave no better when
surrounded by erupting earthworks, shrieking shells, whining bullets and
shattered bodies. But then we had not set ourselves up to be leaders of men.
Some, like me, had applied much thought, and even a little skill, to avoiding
or deflecting offers of higher rank and its responsibilities*****.’
** Voluntary Aid
Detachment: founded 1909 with the help of the Red Cross; 38,000 served in World
War I; members famous then or later included Vera Brittain, Agatha Christie,
Amelia Earhart, and Freya Stark.
*** “The Lost Division”, is explained
as fully as I can in a footnote to Blog 128 December 18, 2016. Although my
father was there in the middle of it, in retrospect the story is hard to pin
down because it has taken on urban-myth characteristics. Was it the same as
“The Forgotten Division”, also
referred to in some online docs. Although “exposed” by Horatio Bottomley (later
jailed as a lying fraudster) in his weekly magazine John Bull, its identity remains unclear. Some suggest the 62nd (2nd
West Riding) Division – there again, they were never stationed in Harrogate it
seems! Meanwhile, the Essex Regiment website lists Sam’s 2/7th Battalion as
part of the 12th Brigade 4th Division whom the esteemed Long Long Trail website
lists as having been on the Western Front throughout the war. Well, my father’s
recollection shows that something very strange had occurred to taint the
atmosphere in this Battalion and/or Division, but I can’t say anything certain
about the background. Perhaps “Lost” or “Forgotten” Division stories, true or
false or somewhere in between, were simply a recurring theme of talk among men
who had fought at the Front?
**** An alias: my father
changed the names of most of the people in the book in order not to in any way
upset living relatives.
***** Promoted to
Corporal, and sometimes Acting Sergeant, on the Somme, en route to Harrogate
Sam had removed his second stripe and apparently been accepted as a Lance
Corporal once more – see Blog 127, December 11, 1916.
All
the best –
FSS
Next week: Sam gets to
know his oddball companions in the Battalion – a song-and-dance man, an opera
singer, a painter, a heavyweight boxer – but comes to scorn their useless
Colonel. Still, the town decides to entertain the troops and two six-foot
sisters hit the spot…
* In his 70s, Sam Sutcliffe
wrote Nobody Of Any Importance, a Memoir of his life from childhood
through Gallipoli, the Somme, Arras 1918 and eight months as a POW to the 1919
Peace parade.
No comments:
Post a Comment