Forgotten Voices of the Somme (21 page)

Wounded British soldiers.

Private Basil Farrer

3rd Battalion, Green Howards

We used to say – if it's got your name and address on it, then it will find you. So what's the use of worrying?

Out of the Trenches

People in England had no idea whatsoever what was happening in France.

Great War infantrymen did not spend the entire war in the front line, or even in the trenches. There was a system of continuous rotation in place that ensured that men were consistently moving between front-line trenches, the reserve trenches and billets behind the lines.

Reverend Leonard Martin Andrews

Chaplain, attached to Royal Fusiliers

I arrived in France on one of the coldest nights you can imagine at this little
estaminet
place. It was the coldest place I'd experienced for years and when I got into bed, the sheets felt like sheets of ice. I was woken up in the morning by a charming chaplain standing by my side, who said, 'I'm very sorry to butt in like this but I've been sent to tell you that a man is to be shot at dawn tomorrow and the Divisional Commander wants you to break the news to him, stay with him all night, and after he's been shot, to bury him.' I was silent for a few moments, then I said, 'There are a million men in France. Why choose me when I've just got here?' He said, 'I'm very sorry but somebody's got to do it.'

So I went to see the officer in charge of
courts martial
and I said that I'd take on this job so long as I'd be allowed to be a prisoner's friend at the next court martial. He said, 'I can't agree with you more. I'm a barrister in private life and I'm doing my utmost to get these poor devils off!' So I went to see this fellow in his cell at seven o'clock at night. The firing party had just arrived – they would be sleeping there. And this regular soldier stood to attention when

I arrived. He said, 'I know what you've come for, sir. You've come to tell me that I'm going to be shot.' So I said, 'Yes, I'm afraid I have. I'd like to know if you want me to write any letters or do anything.' We talked. The minutes seemed like hours and I thought the night would never go but he seemed very awake. He told me, 'I've deserted five times and if I went back again I'd only desert again. I can't face it again so I don't mind dying.'

We were watching every minute on my watch and it was getting nearer and nearer to dawn. I said to him, 'Would you like something to eat?' 'Yes, sir,' he said. A six-footed corporal in charge of the guard came in and I told him that the prisoner wanted some tea and toast. 'We've got some ready sir, in case he wanted it.' A few minutes later, he returned with a big mug of tea and the biggest plate of thick burnt toast covered in butter. It made me almost ill to look at it but, to my utter surprise, this poor dear started devouring it. Fortunately, the doctor had given me two pills to make him sleep better and I managed to get these pills into his tea and he gradually went off to sleep.

About an hour later, I heard activity outside. Dawn was breaking and the firing party was up. I went out and introduced myself to them and said how sorry I felt. 'Oh, we're all right, sir!' one of them said. 'We shall have our backs to him until the moment we shoot.' They were all crack shots and old soldiers and they didn't seem to mind very much.

The prisoner was brought into position and the firing squad was ready to fire, and just at the critical moment the prisoner put up his hand. The sergeant in charge rushed to him and he said, 'I'd like to shake hands with the padre.' It was the longest walk of my life. I walked from the firing squad to this poor creature about to be shot. I shook him by the hand and promised that I'd write home to his mother and I walked back. Then it was all over. Afterwards we had the burial and as the sergeant threw the last piece of earth on the grave, he said, 'You know, sir, at the retreat from
Mons
, he was one of the bravest men in the regiment!' 'It's a bit late saying that now,' I said, 'why didn't you say that at the court martial?' 'I never had the chance, sir,' said the sergeant. 'Neither had that poor devil!' I replied and with that I went off.

Private Philip Cullen

4th Battalion, Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry

When we went out of the line, we'd no sooner got into billets, when we heard, 'Firing party wanted.' Everybody scuttled like a rat. Somebody had been found guilty of cowardice, and it meant a firing party up against a wall, and nobody wanted to do it.

Captain Maberly Esler

9th Battalion, Border Regiment

When we were having our rest out of the line, the colonel sent for me and said, 'I have a very unpleasant duty for you to perform, which I won't like any more than you do.' One of our own men had absented himself from the front line on two occasions when battle had started and, when it was over, came back and made some excuse that he'd mislaid his way. Well, of course, I realised that this was a very serious offence; the first time I sentenced him, myself, to some severe sentence, but it happened again, and I realised he must be sent up to army headquarters for a court martial.

They court-martialled him, and sentenced him to death by firing squad, and the unpleasant task the colonel set me was to attend the shooting and to pin on his heart a piece of coloured flannel, so that it'd give the marksmen something to fire at.

So the following morning he was to be shot at dawn, and I lay awake thinking of it all night, and I thought, 'Well, I'll try to help out this fellow a bit.' So I took him a cupful of brandy and presented it to him, and I said, 'Drink this, and you won't know very much about it.' He said, 'What is it?' I said, 'It's brandy,' and he said, 'I've never drunk spirits in my life, there's no point in starting now.'

That, to me, was a sort of courage. Two men came in and led him out of the hut, where he'd been guarded all night. As he left the hut, his legs gave way, then one could see the fear entering his heart. Rather than being marched to the firing spot, he was dragged along. When he got there, he had his hands tied behind his back, he was put up against a wall, his eyes were bandaged and the firing squad were given an order to fire.

The firing squad consisted of eight men, only two of whom had their rifles loaded. The other six carried blank ammunition – so that they wouldn't actually know who had fired the fatal shot. I wondered at the time, 'What on earth

will happen if they miss him, and don't kill him completely?' I was very anxious about this, but when they fired he fell to the ground, writhing about – as all people do. Even if they've been killed, they have this reflex action of writhing about, which goes on for some minutes.

I don't know whether he was dead or not, but at that moment the sergeant in charge stepped forward, put a revolver to his head, and blew his brains out. That was the
coup de grâce
which – I learnt afterwards – was always carried out in these cases.

I was a medical man, but I think this punishment was absolutely essential. It was setting a bad example to the men. They would begin to feel that you only had to walk off during a battle, and then come back afterwards, and you escaped any penalty of death or mutilation. You would be leaving your comrades in the lurch. I dare say in the
Second World War
, they were looked on as shell-shock cases, instead of just being what they were – cowards. It was a necessary punishment.

Lieutenant Norman Collins

6th Battalion, Seaforth Highlanders

When we were behind the lines, there was a court martial trying a number of people. One of them was an officer in a Highland regiment, and I was his 'officer's friend'. He told me a lot about himself. He was awaiting court martial because he had taken too much rum when he was going over the top, and he was incapable of carrying out his duties properly. He was a charming man, and I felt very sorry for him. I knew that the least punishment he could get would be to be reduced to the ranks, and sent back to his regiment as a private. Well, in the event, before his court martial could take place, this officer shot himself dead.

There was another officer charged with a lesser offence, who was reduced to the ranks. I can remember the battalion being paraded, and this officer stood out in the middle while his badges of rank were cut off, and he was marched away to rejoin the regiment as a private. I heard afterwards from somebody who knew him that he made a very good second start. He could never become an officer again, but he rose to the rank of sergeant major, which was a tremendous achievement.

And I can remember one other case from the courts martial. A private was sentenced to be executed, and he was a man of about thirty-five, with a

family of seven children. And I can remember the judging officers, all spick and span, mounted, carrying fly whisks. They came from another world.

Private William Holmes

12th Battalion, London Regiment

We'd been told that the next day our battalion would be taken up to a place five miles away, where our whole brigade would make a practice attack. They'd chosen a part of the country as similar as possible to the contours of the place where the actual attack was going to be. So after marching us five miles, we found the other three battalions lined up. Everybody in our battalion was put into two ranks, and the order came, 'Pile arms!' That meant every four men would get hold of their rifles and stand them up with their butts on the ground, leaning them against the other rifles. And then the rifles would stand there by themselves, until they were taken up again. So we did that.

Then, my sergeant came to me and said, 'Bill, I want you to go round to all the chaps, give them these dummy cartridges, and tell them to put four in the magazine and one up the spout.' There were no bullets, but when the rifle was fired, it would make a noise, so that when the attack was on it would sound as though everyone was shooting. It took me quite a time. There were so many men I had to hand these things to, and when I got back to my own place I picked up my rifle, and just as I was putting the last one into my magazine, I heard the sergeant shout, 'Drop to your knees! Ready to attack!' It so frightened me that I put the last cartridge up the spout and . . . unfortunately for me . . . I pulled the trigger. Well, of course, the explosion that it made, it made such a noise, that everybody was looking. And the brigadier who'd been inspecting the troops came galloping up to us, and shouted, 'Put that man under close arrest!'

So the sergeant ordered my two mates, who were on either side of me, to fix their bayonets, take away my rifle and march me three hundred yards to where the cooks were. The sergeant of the cooks had to take charge of me. I was sent to my officer commanding, who said, 'I've been ordered by the brigadier to charge you for the most serious thing that you could ever have done! If you had let your rifle off, in a real attack, it would have told the Germans where we were, and it would have given the whole game away! The whole point of a sudden attack would have been falsified! I am to give you the Number One Punishment! Tomorrow morning, you're to be spreadeagled on to the wheel of

one of the big guns, and you're to be tied on to it for two hours, every day for seven days!'

I'm told that my officer, and my sergeant, went and spoke up in my defence, and tried to get the punishment annulled, but the CO said that he was doing it on the brigadier's instructions. And I considered what I'd done, and that if it had been the real attack, I'd have prejudiced the whole thing, and that when they said that I'd be tied to the wheel of a gun, I knew that I fully deserved it.

So, the next day, I was taken by the sergeant to the military police headquarters. In their yard, they had this very large old gun. The sergeant told me what was going to happen, and he tied one of my legs to a slant, with wire, and then the other leg, and both hands. It was a terrible feeling. My body wasn't used to being in that position, and to this day I can still feel the sensation. When they released me after two hours, the sergeant said, 'Bill, we feel that you've had quite enough. I'll fill in the form saying that you've done it for seven days, but you needn't come any more.' I could hardly believe it was true!

Private Philip Cullen

4th Battalion, Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry

I saw the Aussies come along and cut a man free from the gun wheel, because they wouldn't put up with it.

Corporal Hawtin Mundy

1st Battalion, Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry

Early on in the war, it was the strict
discipline
of the old days. Many men were court-martialled and faced the firing squad, simply because their nerves went. It was nothing more. It happened often. If they were shelling heavily while the men were standing to in the trench, and someone dived back and lay in the dugout, he would be shot for it. If someone was caught asleep on his post, he would be shot. If someone was found wandering at a distance behind the lines, he would be shot. The parents of those chaps had a lovely letter saying that their sons died whilst fighting for their country. But things started to change in 1915. All the ambulance trains were altered quickly to have padded cells in them. I know that's right, because I altered them after the war. The chaps that had breakdowns – they couldn't help it – were sent home, and sent to asylums, and cured.

Rifleman Robert Renwick

16th Battalion, King's Royal Rifle Corps

Shell shock was a horrible thing. I saw quite a bit of it. People would lose control of themselves and start shaking. They would sometimes try to climb out of the trench, and they had to be held down. They didn't know what they were doing.

Second Lieutenant W. J. Brockman