At Ypres with Best-Dunkley Part 4

"After tea I had a stroll in the country: it is very pretty, especially this weather....

"Captain Andrews goes home on leave to-night; so Lieutenant Halstead is in command of B Company for a fortnight."

"June 15th.

"The weather continues hot. We had another Battalion parade this morning: procedure the same as yesterday. The Colonel is still most agreeable; he has not said a cross word to me yet.

"We took the afternoon easy, except that there was a parade for inspection of equipment at 4 p.m.

"I received, this afternoon, a letter from you of June 11, and one from Mother of June 10, also enclosures. I am sorry to learn that you are both worrying. What's the use of worrying? What is there to worry about?

I am quite safe. If I had the 'wind up' it might be another matter; but I do not, strange to say, even dread the time when we shall go back into the line! I think it rather exciting. One is inclined to feel a little 'windy' when sh.e.l.ls and 'minnies' are bursting dangerously near, or when a machine-gun spurts out of the gloaming; but there is a certain element of excitement about it all. I would not have missed those few days in the Salient for worlds. I had a pleasant 'baptism of fire'

there. Everybody seems to think that it was worse than going over the top in a push. Those who fought at the Battle of the Somme last year say that they would rather be there than in the place where we were last week! Candidly, I cannot understand it.

"We shall remain out of the line for some time yet--so cheer up!"

CHAPTER V

THE MARCH

I now come to one of the most remarkable, and in some respects certainly the most comical, of all the episodes in which Colonel Best-Dunkley figured--the memorable march from Millain to Westbecourt. The following lengthy epistle which I wrote in my billet in the Vale of Acquin at Westbecourt the following day draws a perfectly accurate picture of what happened:

"You will be interested to learn that we have moved again. We are now billeted in a pretty little village in the heart of north-eastern France....

"Yesterday, Sat.u.r.day June 16, 1917--the hundred and second anniversary of Ligny and Quatre Bras--is a day I am not likely ever to forget. Such a march we had; and it was _some_ stunt! Let me tell you, as far as I can without naming places, the whole story.

"Reveille sounded at 3 a.m. I rose at 5 a.m. We (the officers) had breakfast at 5.30. Parade at 6. At 6.45 we marched off from the village in which we had been billeted during the last few days. It was a very long march which we had before us to the village in which we now are--a distance of sixteen miles. Yet we were expecting to arrive there by midday! I will show you how events turned out so that we did not arrive here anything like midday. The weather was, and is, just as it has been all the time--a cloudless sky and a burning sun. It was already quite warm when we set off, and as the morning advanced the sun naturally became more powerful still. We joined up with the rest of the Brigade a little further on, and marched past General Stockwell and Major Thompson (the Brigade-Major)."

It was in the streets of Watten that we marched past Stockwell; and I vividly recollect that he was not at all pleased with things as early as that. I distinctly heard the word 'rabble' burst from his lips! The letter proceeds:

"Men began to fall out before we reached the first village (or town as it happened to be). And as soon as the falling out began it continued without ceasing, only becoming more frequent the farther we got. I do think they began falling out too early. Every time a man fell out we subalterns had to drop behind with him and give him a chit. That naturally took time and one got right behind; then one would endeavour to catch up again; as soon as one was back with one's own platoon--generally before--one would come across more men of one's company who had fallen out, and so would get right back again. Thus it went on the whole time. It meant that we had double the walking to do that the men had; and we were loaded like Christmas trees just like them. Fortunately there was a mess cart with the Transport, containing still lemonade; so I had a drink now and then. It is an Army idea that one should not drink on the march: that it knocks one up much quicker. I say frankly, from experience, that it is nonsense. I drank as much as I could get hold of on the way (by no means as much as I could have drunk!) and though I was jolly tired I was as fresh as anybody else, and a good deal fresher than the majority, as you will see later. Well, after the first halt the falling out became dreadful; it was almost impossible for us to cope with the number of chits required; crowds must have been without chits at all. The whole roadside became one ma.s.s of exhausted men lying full length. Some were very bad indeed, some had sunstroke, some were sick, more than one were dying. At one time the padre and I were a long way behind, attending to these men. We hurried on to catch up the Battalion. The Transport, under Humfrey, were just behind the Battalion, so we followed along the Transport. When we got to the front end of it we saw nothing beyond! 'Where is the Battalion?' I asked Humfrey. He informed me that he had lost it. The Adjutant had, at the last turning, sent the Battalion one way and the Transport another; and he (Humfrey) had not the faintest idea where he was to go to! So he halted and got out a map. Then the Medical Officer (Adam) arrived on the scene too. We told him that the Battalion had disappeared. So we (Newman, Adam, Humfrey, and myself) sat down for about five minutes and discussed the situation. It struck us as being rather comical, though we wished that we were at the end of our journey instead of in a strange village and ignorant of which way we were to go. Humfrey decided to take his Transport the same way as the remainder of the Brigade Transport had gone; so we went on with him! We went across some very open country. The sun was simply burning down upon us. I felt very exhausted now; but I can stick almost anything in the way of a route march; no route march could, in my opinion, be as bad as that memorable Kidlington-Yarnton route march in March, 1916. The difficulty then was fatigue caused by the march through thick, soft slushy snow when vaccination was just at its worst; the difficulty this time was fatigue and thirst caused by the heat of a French summer. I admit that this route march yesterday was a stern test of endurance; but if I could stick the Kidlington-Yarnton stunt I could stick this, and I did stick this all the way, which very few others did! The trail which we left behind us was a sight to be seen: men, rifles, equipment, riderless horses all over; the Retreat from Moscow was spoken of! 'An utter fiasco, a debacle!' exclaimed Padre Newman.

"Before we had gone with the Transport very far the Medical Officer was called round a corner to see a man who was reported to be dying; the padre went with him. I went on with the Transport. After a time I saw Lieutenant Reginald Andrews (the Adjutant) standing alone in a village; so it looked as if the remains of our Battalion must be somewhere about.

A little further on I found Captain Blamey (O.C. D Company) and Giffin sitting by the side of the road. I asked them what they were doing, and they replied that they had fallen out with Sergeant-Major Howarth who was very bad indeed--reported to be dying. So the Battalion had pa.s.sed that way.

"I went on, and, in about ten minutes, saw ahead Colonel Best-Dunkley standing at the corner of a road branching off to the left from the road I was proceeding along with the Transport (just outside the village of Boisdinghem). Just as I reached this corner Brigadier-General Stockwell rode up from the opposite direction (on horseback) and, with a face wincing with wrath, accosted Colonel Best-Dunkley as follows:

"'Dunkley, where's your Battalion?'

"'This is my Battalion here, sir,' replied the Colonel, standing submissively to attention and indicating fifteen officers, non-commissioned officers, and men--all told--lying in a state of exhaustion at the side of this shaded country road.

"'What! You call that a Battalion? Fifteen men! I call it a rabble. What the b---- h---- do you mean by it? Your Battalion is straggling all along the road right away back to (Watten)! You should have halted and collected them; not marched on like this. These men have not had a long enough halt or anything to eat all day. If this is the way you command a Battalion, you're not fit to command a Battalion. You're not even fit to command a platoon!'

"The General then said that the Colonel, the Adjutant, and four company commanders could consider themselves 'under arrest'! The General was simply fuming with wrath; I do not think I have ever seen a man in such a temper. And I certainly never heard a colonel strafed in front of his own men before. It was an extraordinary scene. Those who have writhed under the venom of Colonel Best-Dunkley in the past would, doubtless, feel happy at this turning of the tables as it were, a refreshing revenge; but I must admit that my sympathy was with Colonel Best-Dunkley--and so was that of all present--in this instance, for we all felt that the General's censure was undeserved. It was not Colonel Best-Dunkley's fault; if it was anybody's fault it was the General's own fault for ordering the march by day instead of by night, and for not halting the Brigade for a long enough period earlier on in the course of the march. One felt that Colonel Best-Dunkley was being treated unjustly, especially as the North Lancs. had only arrived with ten! And the Irish had not yet arrived at all! (These facts must soon have become apparent to General Stockwell, and, perhaps, caused him, inwardly at any rate, to modify his judgment). And the way Colonel Best-Dunkley took it, the calm and submissive manner in which he bore General Stockwell's curses and the kind and polite way in which he afterwards gave orders to, and conversed with, his inferiors, both officers and men, endeared him to all. I consider that out of this incident Colonel Best-Dunkley has won a moral victory. He played his cards very well, and feeling changed towards him as a result.

"The General went on: 'You yourself, the Adjutant, and four mounted officers go right back to (Watten) immediately and collect your men together and bring them along here before you proceed any further.'

"'I _have_ sent two officers down the road, sir,' replied the Colonel.

"'What the d----s the use of detailing unmounted officers for the job?'

snapped General Stockwell. The Colonel said something else, and the General replied, 'That's no excuse.'

"Then General Stockwell went off, and Colonel Best-Dunkley carried out his orders. We could see that we were now in for a very long halt here.

It would take a deuce of a time to collect the Battalion together again!

So we lay down under the shade of the roadside hedge and discussed the whole affair. Three sergeant-majors had fallen out on the way, two very bad indeed; officers had fallen out; and men wearing ribbons of the D.C.M. and the M.M., heroes of Gallipoli and the Somme, men who had never been beaten by a route march before, were lying along the country roads; so there must have been some reason for it! Amongst the st.u.r.dy fifteen were the new Regimental Sergeant-Major (Hoyle) and Sergeant-Major Preston of B Company; and there were also a few officers.

The Transport made us some tea, which we enjoyed immensely. Humfrey had his little fox terrier, 'Darky,' who was born in the trenches at Thiepval during the Battle of the Somme last summer, with him. It is a nice little dog. I found a gold ring on the road just by me; and I intend to keep it as a souvenir of the episode.

"We remained here for five hours--from 2.30 to 7.30. Men were reinforcing us all the time. After about half an hour General Stockwell appeared again. Glaring at Sergeant-Major Hoyle he addressed him as follows:

"'Here are fifteen men whom _I_ myself--_I_--have collected along the road. Get them some tea at once, sergeant-major!' He glanced at us all and then rode off again. He is clean-shaven and exceptionally young for a General; I should think he is not more than thirty-five. He is rather good-looking, but he has _some_ temper. Some one remarked that General Stockwell and Colonel Best-Dunkley were men of similar temperament; on this occasion the latter had run up against the former; this interesting little episode at this country corner was the result!

"There was an aerodrome near by (at Boisdinghem), and the Major there kindly sent his motor-lorries down the road to fetch up our men; so they kept arriving in motor-lorries the whole afternoon.

"I can tell you we enjoyed this rest. One officer who had fallen out saw a mail motor-lorry. The driver said that he was looking for the (164) Brigade! So he got a lift. The mail arrived while we were resting in this shaded road; so I got your letter of June 12 and the enclosed letters, and read them there....

"When we marched off again it was much cooler. The majority of the Battalion had been collected during the five hours, and we marched happily on--the band playing. The country was pretty, and everything was gay! The Colonel was awfully nice, inquiring whether the step was to our liking, and making himself agreeable in every possible way. All were pleased with him.

"We arrived at our destination at 8.30, and the men were taken straight into the barns where they are billeted. Tea was served out immediately.

"I am billeted in a farm again. The people are very decent indeed. The woman gave me three drinks as soon as I arrived, offering them herself and refusing to take any payment for them; she also offered to boil me a couple of eggs, but I did not wish to put on good nature any further.

There is a nice little boy named Edmond, aged fourteen. I talked to him in French as much as it was possible for me to do in that language. He cannot speak English....

"Allen and I are both billeted in the same room here. B Company Mess is in a house close by, and B Company are billeted in the barns of a farm almost opposite.

"The village we are in (Westbecourt) is geographically divided into two parts, north and south. The southern portion, in which we are, is a valley (le Val d'Acquin). The northern part is on the reverse slope of a hill which lies on the other side of the valley. Battalion Headquarters is at a farm on that northern side of the high ground, just by the church.

"We rose at 10 a.m. this morning. The weather to-day has been hotter than ever. One perspires even when quite still. The sun has been scorching down. We had an inspection at 11, and the M.O. came round to inspect the men's feet at 2.40. Just as he was going away the Colonel turned up at the farm where B Company is in billets. He was on horseback, in slacks and in his shirt-sleeves; to live in one's shirt sleeves is a very common custom this weather. He informed us that General Stockwell is coming to inspect the Battalion to-morrow!

"During the day I have been exploring the village. It is very pretty indeed, much prettier than the last place we were at. There are thick woods, green fields, shaded avenues--some completely arched by all kinds of trees; and, the district being hilly, the country is thus all the more charming. Milk is very cheap here. I got a big bowl of milk for 1d.

at one farm in the valley the other side of the hill. It is splendid here; and we are likely to remain here some time.

"At 7.40 the padre conducted a short voluntary church parade service in an orchard behind the farm in which C Company hangs out--just opposite the farm in which I am billeted. Allen, Priestley, Barker, Giffin, and I were there. The band was there for the first hymn--it then had to go to Headquarters to play 'retreat' at 8 p.m. There were about twenty men...."

Sergeant-Major Howarth, D.C.M., died at St. Omer that day, overpowered by the march of the previous day. "He was not at all the cla.s.s of man one can afford to lose, and his loss was greatly deplored," comments the _Lancashire Fusiliers' Annual_. And Sergeant-Major Howarth was not, I believe, the only casualty of the kind caused by the march.

Before I close this chapter I ought to say a word about the Brigadier whose personality dominates the canvas. I do not wish it to be supposed that I desire to reflect in any way upon the character and ability of General Stockwell. Nothing could be further from my mind. I relate the incident because it strikes me as being funny, because such an episode forms the subject for an interesting study in the bearing of two remarkable personalities, and because I hold that the truth should always be told about such matters. The episode has long been a topic of intimate conversation amongst members of the 2/5th Lancashire Fusiliers and their friends; many a laugh have we had about it. Why should not the public be allowed to laugh with us?

All men and women, even the greatest, are capable of making mistakes.

n.o.body is perfect. Even the great Napoleon made mistakes. So General Stockwell will not, I am sure, claim to be immaculate. But for Clifton Inglis Stockwell as a General I entertain, and always have entertained, feelings of the most profound respect. n.o.body can possibly entertain a more ardent devotion for a leader than I entertain for General Stockwell under whom it has been my good fortune to have the honour to serve in 1917, in 1918, and in 1919. The longer I have served under him the more have I admired his perfectly obvious talent, his brilliant initiative, and his striking personality. His record in the Great War is unique. As a captain in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, he commanded a company in the retreat from Mons in 1914. He rose rapidly. He became a major; and he became a colonel; and, during the Battle of the Somme, in 1916, he became a Brigadier-General, succeeding Brigadier-General Edwards in command of the 164th Brigade. And he remained in command of that famous Brigade until the end of the war. As I studied the countenance of General Stockwell on that country road at Boisdinghem that afternoon I realized that he was no ordinary twopenny-halfpenny brigadier; but I did not then know that this was the man who, less than twelve months later, was destined to stand between Ludendorff and decisive victory in his last dramatic throw at Givenchy on the glorious ninth of April, and seven months later still to be chosen to command the flying column known by his name which captured Ath on Armistice Day and fired the last shots of the Great War. It is right that Stockwell's place in history should be duly appreciated.

CHAPTER VI