A Marine at Gallipoli on the Western Front Read online

  Now to carry on with my own affairs. Fourteen glorious days at home, every minute full to the brim, too full to write about. Then came my orders, report at Rugely on 6 November, then next day to Ripon where I was posted to a cadet camp and attached to the 5th Battalion Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. We were merely waiting there for vacancies in the cadet schools and the biggest job we had was killing time. Stayed in Ripon about five weeks, then sent to the 20th Officers’ Cadet Battalion, Fleet, near Aldershot. There I had to start soldiering all over again from the very beginning, but it was easy. Every man in my company was active service and knew his job. We had several exams, both for theory and practical work, and the third paper exam. I did very well, finishing third from top with a total of 139 marks out of a possible 150. The final exam, set by the War Office came off on 30 April and I did it easily. No marks were available though and we only knew whether we had passed or failed. We had still another month to drag on though before getting our regiments.

  I had applied for a commission in my own corps, the Royal Marines. The War Office allowed us £50 towards our kit allowance and I had got most of mine together. Left Fleet on 28 May 1918 and went home to await my papers.

  Received a telegram on 21 June to report at once at the Marine Barracks, Plymouth, and went off the next day. I had to wait until the Monday morning to see the commandant who, after a few kind words and a keen scrutiny, sent me off to the adjutant who presented me with a copy of my commission. I was gazetted to the Royal Marines from 29 May 1918, a fully-fledged officer. The adjutant hardly knew what to do with me. He had a crowd of young subs, dug-outs from different departments of the War Office, Admiralty etc., who were going through their first schooling as soldiers under crusty sergeant majors. He said it was no use putting me with those people, so sent me away with an old sergeant for several days’ rifle shooting and revolver practice over at Mount Edgecombe.

  I met several of my old friends in barracks. Poor old Jim Hearne, pottering about with only one decent hand, Sergeant Osgood, with one good arm, the other withered beyond all possible use. He told me then that I had saved his life on 13 November 1916. Several more of the old boys were there, too.

  Off for a course of field training on 8 July to Tavistock. Under canvas at Whitchurch, but I got decent digs in the village for Mary and myself, and the colonel (a wreck from Jutland) gave me permission to live out. There I spent the most pleasant three weeks of the whole war, three glorious weeks of July in the heart of Devon. It came to an end all too soon and orders came for me to report at Plymouth again before proceeding to the RND Depot at Aldershot.

  Back at Plymouth on the 30th and next day but one, 1st August, went to Aldershot. After reporting at Salamanca Barracks to RN Headquarters, Colonel Findlater, I spent about six hours with Mary trying to get rooms. It was a terrible job; the people who had rooms didn’t know what to ask for them as soon as they saw the officer’s uniform – as much as four and five pounds a week for a bed-sitting-room. We managed to get fixed up for the night about 11.00pm and the next day Mary managed to get rooms where, for a week or two, we were twisted right and left. Bloodsuckers. Later we found a home from home and were comfortable and happy for the rest of our stay in the town of armies and Army followers.

  Work started for me the day after arrival and our second in command, Major Coode, the man who really mattered, was one of the most difficult men I have ever met. He was efficient, terribly efficient, and would have nothing but the best from all the subs under his wing. I passed him one day after I’d been there about a fortnight; he was walking across the barrack square with two more senior officers and, of course, I gave him, as I thought, an extra smart salute. ‘Mister Askin,’ he called, ‘just a minute.’ I walked smartly up to him. ‘How long have you been in the Royal Marines, Mister Askin?’ he asked. ‘Four years, Sir,’ I replied. ‘Well, I’ve been in them about twenty-four years and I have never seen a Royal Marine salute like that before.’ Then he gave me a demonstration of correct saluting and I felt like a piece of the gravel on the parade ground.

  My time at Aldershot was spent doing course after course, Lewis gun, Vickers machine gun, trench mortars, bombing, grenades, musketry, gas, platoon and company drill etc., etc., until I too became terribly efficient.

  The first exam was on 14 August, and I finished up fourth in a big class with a score of 168 marks out of a possible 200. I came across my old chum Billy Hurrell there; he had come home for a commission but had failed in the preliminary exam at Ripon and was now waiting for his demob papers to come through. He was a miner and so many of them were being released from service for work in the mines. He had got safely through the fighting of Passchendaele, Welsh Ridge, the big retreat, in which Billy Black had been taken prisoner, and had fought his way well up in the new advance before coming home.

  I managed to get a downing with the flu while in Aldershot, and Mary, myself and our landlady were all down together with it. Troops and civilians were dying by thousands all over the country from the disease, and work was practically at a standstill in Aldershot.

  My warning for a draft came on 1 November. Ten days’ leave at home and back in Aldershot on 10 November.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  11 November 1918

  Armistice Day, and I couldn’t possibly express my feelings on paper. All drafts cancelled for the time being, but my call came on the 16th. Three days’ draft leave, then report at Dover on the 22nd for a little more service in France. I could do it on my head!

  A decent crossing to Calais and then on to Douai, a town I’d gazed at from our trenches at Gavrelle for months. I managed a ride through Gavrelle on a lorry one day while there, but there wasn’t a vestige of the place remaining. No one could imagine that a solidly-constructed village had once stood on the spot. Absolute desolation, and a lump came in my throat as I raised my hand to salute the memory of so many fine comrades lying dead there.

  I went one day with Cutmore and another fellow from Douai to Lille just to see what the place was like. We walked part of the way and did a bit of lorry jumping in between, and managed a few hours in the place. My impression of the people there was that they had got so used to the Germans they were sorry they had gone. We had to walk about half the distance back in the pouring rain. Every car that came along we tried to stop but they were mostly full of brass hats.

  Eventually we managed to stop a major of the ASC with his two mechanics in a Rolls-Royce. He was very obliging and told us to jump in. The night was pitch-black, and he was in a terrible hurry. We were doing at least 50mph. All right on the straight but the mad man tried to take an S-bend without slowing down. He would have done it but for the fact that a railway track ran across the road halfway through the bend. Round we went, first on two wheels, then two terrible leaps in the air and round the other bend on the other two wheels. We finished up all in a heap on the left bank of the road. It took one of the mechanics over an hour to get the car in running order again. The major was stamping up and down the road spitting out fire and brimstone. We finished the ride back to Douai at a more reasonable speed.

  My next trip was the result of the non-arrival of our mail for three weeks. Not a line from home had anybody received since leaving England and we were all fed up. I knew the battalion was somewhere around Mons and I thought if I got up to them I should get the mail. I happened to be orderly officer for that day but, as duties were non-existent, thought I wouldn’t be missed.

  I caught a lorry going to Valenciennes and had a pretty bumpy journey, going through Denain, a fair-sized town. Halfway between there and Valenciennes, I noticed a motor car coming towards us flying the Royal standard on its bonnet. As it passed us I gave a smart salute and saw the King raise his hand in return. Just past there we came to what once had been a sizeable village and a huge factory used by the Germans for making big shells. The factory was nothing but a heap of broken brickwork and twisted metal, the village just a shell. Not long before the Armistice our airmen had pa
id it a visit and had got home with a direct hit on the factory. Hundreds of Belgian girls were killed as they lay in bed.

  I got a decent feed in Valenciennes and, after a time, managed to get another lorry that was going to Mons. I got off about nine miles from there and commenced my search for the battalion. I walked from Bousso to Dour where they were supposed to be, a matter of four kilometres. Part of 189 Brigade was there and I was told that my battalion was at Eugies, another nine kilometres away. I arrived there tired, hungry and splashed with mud about 4.30pm. I went to the battalion postman first thing, but he informed me that he had only re-addressed the letters that morning and sent them on to Douai. B Company Mess was nearest, so I went in and found Pilgrim and two more officers just having tea. I shared tea with them and had a spot of whiskey and then a wash and clean up. They invited me to stay the night but I wanted to get back to Douai. I decided to walk on to Mons, another six miles away and set off at 6.00pm. Pitch dark and only a hazy idea of the direction. Got there eventually and found it a fine place, full of light and life and fine women. I had no use for them though, and so made my way to the Grande Place to pick up a lorry or car going to Valenciennes or Douai.

  I found a lorry and got to Valenciennes about 11.30pm, almost dead beat. There I had to start hunting round for something to complete the journey. About midnight a very nice car passed me on the Denain road and I yelled out ‘Douai?’ The car pulled up and I asked one of the two officers in it if he minded giving me a lift. ‘Jump in the back,’ he said, and off we went and in a few minutes I was fast asleep. I was awakened in the midst of a terrible, godforsaken village. ‘Here we are,’ said one of the officers. ‘Where?’ I asked drowsily, ‘This isn’t Douai.’ ‘Oh, my Lord!’ said one of them, ‘we thought you said Iwuy.’ They were very sorry, of course, but couldn’t get on any further as they were out of petrol. They were billeted in the village and offered me a shakedown for the night, which kind offer I turned down. Where was I and how far away from Douai? They told me if I carried on for nine kilometres along the road I should get to Cambrai. Another nine kilometres and I thought I should get to a far, far better land, for I was about all in and the rain was coming down from a pitch-black sky in a steady downpour.

  Off I stumbled in and out of rain-filled shell- and pot-holes along one of the most dreary roads in France. All this part had been the scene of some of the hardest fighting of the later stages of the war. Bitter fighting and, on the part of the Bosch, deliberate destruction of everything useful. What few houses and villages I passed were shelled or shaken into ruins, while along the roadside I could make out derelict and broken German tanks and other implements of war. I was almost on my hands and knees when I reached the outskirts of Cambrai and the first object I clapped eyes on was a military policeman. ‘Is there an Officers’ Club anywhere about here?’ I asked him. ‘Twenty yards up that street on the left, Sir,’ he answered. I could have kissed him but hadn’t the strength to struggle. To hell with Douai tonight, I thought and asked for a whiskey and a bed. They put me right until morning and about 9 o’clock, after a good breakfast and another drink, I found a lorry going to Douai.

  As a companion I had a Wesleyan padre and his language would shame any old marine I ever knew and his repertoire of filthy tales was unlimited. I was glad when the Grande Place of Douai was reached and I had wished the holy man a polite good morning. He left a nasty taste in my mouth. A dirty piece of work!

  As soon as I got back to billets, Cutmore told me the adjutant wanted me at Orderly Room. He had been asking for me all yesterday, the first time while I had been at Douai that the Orderly Officer had been wanted. Just my luck, and I went there prepared for the worst. In any case I expected a real dressing down for being absent from duty. Not a word though. That HAC captain was a gentleman. ‘Oh! Mister Askin,’ he said, ‘all details are moving to their battalions today and I want you as Entraining Officer, here are the details for trucks.’ That was my punishment and I heaved a sigh of relief as I made my way down to the siding. I got every man on board without a hitch and the adjutant complimented me on my work before the train steamed out. A perfect gentleman as I said before! Personally I would sooner have a chap who would have cursed me up and down and then let it drop. For all I knew this chap may have sent a little confidential report up to my own colonel. Curse the post, the postal authorities and all those people who conspire together to keep the troops and their letters apart.

  Reported at my own Battalion Orderly Room on arrival and was told off to A Company, my old lot, but not one familiar face did I see. I think there was one other man in the battalion who had landed on Gallipoli with me, and he was still a private and quite content. Just about two men out of nearly 5,000. Where were the others? Others come, others go, but I go on forever.

  Lieutenant Tully was in charge of the company, and with Butler-Porter, Donaldson and McCleau made up the complement of officers of A Company. They all made me welcome to the mess and I was given my own platoon, No. 1, in which I had had so many stirring times.

  Major Clutterbuck was our OC, an old marine with a liver, unapproachable until after lunch. Donaldson told me he once walked into the mess at headquarters in the early morning, and wished the major a polite ‘Good morning, Sir.’ ‘Is it? the OC asked, ‘and what the Devil’s that got to do with me?’ A sweet man! I thought that the less I saw of the old man the better it would be for me.

  The second day we moved on a few miles to fresh billets in a decent-sized mining town, la Bouverie, and I was billeted with some genuine, kindly, Belgian people. They put the best of everything at my disposal, even fetched the bedding out that had been hidden from the Germans throughout their long occupation of the place.

  Appendix

  Artillery Employed for V Corps Attack in Battle of the Ancre

  13 November 1916

  18-pounders 364

  4.5-inch howitzers 108

  15-inch howitzers 2

  12-inch howitzers 1

  9.2-inch howitzers 28

  8-inch howitzers 16

  6-inch howitzers 56

  6-inch guns 4

  4.7-inch guns 8

  60-pounder 46

  Total 633

  In addition several guns were lent for counter-battery work. There was one gun for every thirteen yards of front.

  Notes

  Chapter One

  1. TBD, or torpedo-boat destroyer, a title later abbreviated to destroyer.

  2. Major Clark’s diary stated that our trip to the entrance to the Dardanelles was in the nature of a lecture and demonstration on the defences of the place. Actually we were standing by to land and had the naval attack proved successful, we should have been rushed through and landed to take possession of the forts of Chanak, Kilid Bahr and Maidos etc.

  3. General Service wagons.

  4. Full marching order.

  Chapter Two

  1. Later General Sir Bernard Freyberg VC.

  2. High Explosive.

  3. King’s Own Scottish Borderers.

  4. Later General Sir John Monash, who commanded Australian forces on the Western Front.

  Chapter Four

  1. Army Service Corps, later Royal Army Service Corps.

  2. Small arms ammunition.

  Chapter Five

  1. A biscuit in this case is a third part of a mattress.

  Chapter Seven

  1. Royal Garrison Artillery.

  2. Fever of unknown origin.

  Chapter Ten

  1. Inverted chevrons worn on the left forearm by privates and lance corporals.

  Chapter Fourteen

  1. Army biscuit was not a confection. The original French, bis cuit, means baked twice and thus Army ration bread, or biscuit, was bread that had been baked twice and, as a result, was hard.

  2. The Royal Marines held precedence in the Army List after the Royal Berkshire Regiment, formerly the 49th Regiment of Foot.

  Chapter Twenty

  1. Paris was born in 1861
and was fifty-five at this time. He was wounded severely in October 1916 and lost a leg.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  1. Paris was wounded in the shoulder and the back and lost his left leg. He died in 1937 at the age of seventy-six.

  2. Royal Marine Artillery. At this time there were two major elements of the Corps of Royal Marines, the RMA and the Royal Marine Light Infantry, of which the author was a member.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  1. These were wound badges, worn on the lower left arm.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  1. Bottomley, a former MP, was editor of the popular magazine John Bull. In 1922 he was convicted of fraud and imprisoned for a Victory Bonds scam.