Ok. I'll start with a couple of photos from the Battle of Arras in 1917.

My grandad saw these photos in a newspaper some years after the war had ended. He recognised himself and his comrades in them and wrote to the newspaper with his story. The newspaper double checked his account with the Imperial War Museum and it was borne out by the records.

The newspaper arranged for my grandad to be sent a copy of the 2 photos and that's how my mum came to be in possession of them.

 

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a320/e-motion2/jupiter9/2njzuwxx600.jpg

 

 

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a320/e-motion2/jupiter9/2m32xahx600.jpg

Oh gosh. Didn't expect them to be so big. :huh:

 

Anyway, my grandad told the family that he was the guy in the first photo who is on the left having exited the trench. In the second photo he said he was the guy second from the right (slightly higher than the others).

 

 

Ths is what he wrote to the newspaper when it printed the photos some years later.

 

' I was the sergeant in charge of the party. The raid took place in front of Arras in K Sector of the line, from Sap 9 on the right of King's Crater. And the date was Good Friday (April 6th) 1917. We passed the camera as we moved up to our position.

 

There is a tragic tale about your picture. Twenty seconds after it was taken a shell entered the sap, killing eight and knocking out two of our party of fifteen, leaving only five of us to raid the enemy'.

 

My regiment was the 9th Scottish Rifles, 9th Scottish Division and we were No 5 Platoon, 'B' Company'.

 

Images re-sizes.

 

There is a tragic tale about your picture. Twenty seconds after it was taken a shell entered the sap, killing eight and knocking out two of our party of fifteen, leaving only five of us to raid the enemy'.

 

:( It's sad to think of all those that lost there lives.

Grandad's report of the Battle of Loos 1915

 

Battle of Loos 1914

 

August , 1914, will always be remembered by those who, in that fatal summer, saw the war clouds burst over Europe, and prosperous, peaceful Britons were torn from their pleasures in the stern grip of Mars. The memory of that staggering calamity is always near. Still we see the bands of men flocking to join the colours, the recruiting meetings, Kitchener's pointing finger; all swamped in a solid wave of patriotism. With cheerful smiles the flower of British manhood marched into camp to prepare for the Greatest Adventure man could willingly undertake.

 

The gaps in the home were not so keenly felt while the missing ones were serving at home, but, after 1915 came in, the mantle of black despair gradually spread over the land. All nations certainly suffered, but surely 1915 stands out as the blackest year in Scottish history. Neuve Chapelle saw her reservist army wiped out, Festubert and Givinchy practically finished her territorial battalions, but Loos was the culminating point in her anguish. The 9th and 15th Scottish Divisions, recruited in Scotland during the first rush of volunteers at the outbreak of hostilities, were almost totally annihilated at the last named battle.

 

Barely 4 months in France, with only a slight experience of the grim reality of war, they were chosen for the central point of attack, namely, the Hohenzollern redoubt and the town of Loos. Saturday, the 25th of September, dawned in a slight drizzle of rain with only a breath of wind. Preparation had been made for gas to be liberated previous to the attack should the wind be favourable. Qualified men were in charge of the cylinders, and in some cases gas was liberated; only to drift about the trench, causing loss and great confusion among our own men before the battle commenced. The gas helmet in use then was simply a flannel sack, steeped in certain chemicals, with two glass pieces for seeing through. Breathing inside them was well-nigh impossible, so that many men tore them off and faced the gas rather than undergo the torment of slow suffocation.

 

It was almost a relief when the signal to attack was given, and the first wave mounted the parapet. Scarcely was a man out, when the Germans, standing ready, showed their strength. With a roar, like a moving avalanche, machine guns and rifles opened fire- backed by a solid barrage of shrapnel; creating a hail of lead the like of which no army in any part of the war was ever asked to face. Not one man in a hundred reached the German lines. On most of the front the attackers were completely wiped out, in some parts hardly a man got 20 yards from his own trench, so terrific was the German fire.

 

Only on a small area was the enemy line broken, but such was the cost in life that the whole attack fizzled out for want of men. Towards midday a second attack was made, with even less success than the first. The men in the morning attack went over in ignorance of what lay before them, but the same cannot be said of the midday attackers. Their advance was magnificent bravery. From 6am until 12 noon these men had been trampling over mangled corpses, dressing wounded or laying the dead aside. Many gallant lives were lost trying to assist the wounded to get back from 'No Man's Land'. The Germans were rampant, standing in full view all along their trench and shooting at every figure that moved- aye, and even some that didn't. Many corpses were shot and reshot until they were absolutely riddled with bullets.

The unnerving horror of it all, the sad heartache for comrades that were gone, the odour of reeking flesh coupled with the fumes of bursting shells was enough to make those inexperienced soldiers turn and flee from such terrible scenes- and no-one could have blamed them! But Scotia's old traditions were upheld, in all their honours, by her gallant sons that day.

 

With a whoop they cast self and sorrow aside as, to the skirl of the pipes, they leapt the parapet and were mown down. The wounded and the few survivors had to lie out all day under a pitiless hail of lead. To move meant certain death- even the wounded had to lie still and let the blood flow away from their wounds. After dark the work of rescue commenced, and there again many lives were lost, the enemy opening fierce bursts of rifle fire all through the night.

 

Finally, when all were in that could be got and the Roll was called, 90% was found to be missing. For days after the heart-sick sorrowers buried their dead, each corpse awakening a store of memories of the training period. Looking back now on those cheerful men and trusty comrades, we rejoice in the war that brought us together, but, in bitterness, we curse the folly that took the cream of the nation away.

Edited November 11, 200717 yr by Jupiter9

Off to The Somme now :cry:

 

( This is a really long report. I'll type it up and post it over the next couple of weeks)

 

 

The 9th Scottish Rifles on The Somme (Part 1)

 

In ancient dictum all roads led to Rome, but during the summer of 1916 all roads behind the British lines in France led to Albert. Long trains of covered wagons were pulling into Amiens by day and night, and from each truck emerged some forty men, while into Albert itself, in never-ending succession, purred London's one-time buses. Those buses still carried the Piccadilly, Strand and Oxford Circus route-boards, and, on each packed deck, singing and waving like trippers coastwise bound, sat the khaki hordes, while on foot in an endless column marched a tramping host.

 

The town of Albert and what lay beyond was a wonderful tonic to the troops. After months of tedious toil and trench confinement the contrast of this bustling town was vivacious; it was reminiscent of a coast town at the height of the season with its horde of trippers passing through. The red-brick town, although shattered in places, was in fairly good condition, but the figure on its cathedral was the cynosure of all eyes. A massive statue, apparently of bronze, depicting the Madonna and her Babe, had been dislodged by shell fire, and now lay, prostrate and suspended, on the very pinnacle of the spire and looking down on the cobbled pave. Viewing that emblem of love was not only an inspiration for faith, but also a bulwark for hope; somehow, in the soldiers' minds, the belief persisted that the power which prevented the figure's destruction would also see them through. For many, alas, in a worldly sense, the belief was unjustified.

 

Beyond Albert the scene not only surprised but absolutely flabbergasted the arriving soldiers. Near Bray the undulating country was composed of sharp ravines and rolling plain, but nearer the line it opened out into long sloping valleys with their crests almost a mile apart. Here, in striking contrast to the secretive burrowing of trench warfare, the battle preparations were proceeding openly with defiant disregard to the enemy observers. On every road was a moving mass of transport- guns, wagons, lorries- and even across the fields corps of men were hastily laying light railways for the transport of materials.

 

From the ridge of the hills, as far as the eye could see, stretched the army of waiting warriors; the sun shone on a sea of bivouacs, while smoke curled lazily from innumerable fires. Wafting along on the breeze came the skirl of the pipes mingled with the melodeon's mellow tune, while, from clustering groups, came the staccato call of the croupiers at 'House,Kelly's eye, legs eleven, clickity-click. And so the game went on when at the same time the guns thundered intermittently as the arriving batteries ranged on their targets.

 

In a semi-circle, like kiddies' balloons at the end of a string, hung the sausage-shaped envelopes which were the eyes of the guns. And, like kiddies at the fair, the troops went meandering around viewing the sights. Twelve inch howitzers with their big caterpillar wheels and monster shells were the chief attraction. Somehow 'Granny's huge missiles seemed just retribution for 'Jerry Johnston's at Ypres.

 

Another popular side-show was a French antique six-inch howitzer battery. These guns, to look at, appeared to have wandered from the pages of 'Comic Cuts', yet, seen in action, they were about the most efficient and most destructive guns on the front. The gun itself was merely a steel tube, three feet long, mounted on a steel frame which rested on four little wheels-like those on a porter's barrow- and the whole thing could have been packed into an ordinary clothes chest. The gun was fired with a lanyard, and the kick from the exploding charge sent it trundling backwards up a steep slope. When its momentum was spent the gun ran forward into position again and was so balanced that, when empty, the breach tipped up automatically. A shell being rammed in, followed by the propelling charge, the breach end became heaviest and the gun toppled into firing position. A tug at the lanyard and another missile went screaming on its mission. Those French gunners with their stoical methods won the admiration of their observing allies.

Such were the sights by day, while at night the glare from thousands of fires must have been seen for miles around. And around those fires, with bantering joke and chorusing song, Britain's manhood lay awaiting the order to battle.

Edited November 11, 200717 yr by Jupiter9

jeez.... thats disturbing, thanks for shareing :)

The Somme- Part 2

 

In dug-outs which lined the right bank of Happy Valley the 9th Scottish Rifles were sleeping peacefully as day broke on July 1, 1916. Suddenly the guns outside, with thudding, exciting detonations, thundered into action, and the rapidly repeating boom of explosions, entering by the narrow doorways, reverberated throughout the confined space of the earthen chambers with such devastating intensity that the occupants were, willy-nilly, driven outside.

The great Somme battle had commenced!

 

Immediately in front of us eight British six-inch howitzers were vomiting shells as fast as men could ram them home, while, right beside us, the French battery, its crew almost nude and a diabolical grin of fiendish delight on their faces, was firing with maniacal speed. All around rumbled the thundering guns, their incessant detonations shaking the very earth, while the air was filled with acrid fumes from exploding chemicals.

 

There is a strange fascination in watching guns in action, but, as our eyes followed the black dots soaring away to join that devastating barrage of bursting shells, our thoughts were with the lads who at that moment were following the wake and crouching behind that moving wall of flame and destruction.

Hour after hour the intensified fury went on, and then, in tiny trickles, which later grew into surging streams, the wounded came trailing back. Eager for news, we helped them on. How was it going? A walkover! A stonewall! Varied and conflicting reports. Optimistic, pessimistic! We listened to the thundering guns and wondered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The beginning of the end? Such were our thoughts that night as we crossed the old lines and entered German territory of the morning. A stumbling trek over churned earth brought us to the flattened village of Montauban. Here we were posted in little groups and left gesticulating as to where the enemy were and what we would do if they attacked. The night was inky black with a drizzling rain falling. At intervals fierce volleys of rifle fire exposed the prevailing wind up, as, in the intense gloom, attack or counter-attack was equally impossible. The guns were strangely silent, no doubt rearranging their positions in readiness for daybreak.

Black gave way to grey as the dawn lit up the mists, and in the growing light we gazed on the erstwhile village. People unacquainted with shell fire are apt to imagine that a bombardment knocks the houses down and piles the debris into heaps. Such is not the case. The concussion from an exploding shell sweeps outwards, blasts everything away to its own level, and leaves a crater at the point of explosion. Debris accumulates at the start of a bombardment, but the continuous explosions pound them to dust and scatters them outwards until nothing remains but parts of the founds between the shell craters.

Such was Montauban. And in Montauban on July 2 stood one of the war's most curious sights. High on its slim pedestal, painted in royal blue, stood an image of the Virgin. Around were the scattered fragments of the church that had been its home. We stared, we theorised, but the problem remained unsolved. Montauban was gone, the church was gone but the statue remained. Much has been said about Albert's suspended image, but very little about Montauban's standing one.

 

 

* * *

 

For two days, under continuous fire, we had been consolidating our position, and now an unbroken trench stretched before Montauban. On either side the battle raged furiously as the rival armies charged and counter-charged for possession of the various strongholds. During the 2nd night our outposts came scampering in and reported Germans massing in front. We stood to arms, tense and alert. Overhead the Verey lights sparkled, their brilliant glare revealing the devastation of battle. Innumerable grey-clad corpses in their black top-boots lay strewn among discarded baggage and other equipment.

At last, in a thin, grey, stumbling line, they came. Aloft in dozens soared the lights, and night was changed to day. Machine-guns and rifles barked with a furious crackle, and the grey line melted away. Still on they came! Clustering groups and stumbling waves emerged from the darkness and faded out in the flickering light. We held the mastery and revelled in the carnage. We remembered Loos and jokingly called them on.

The attack fizzled out, the din died down. From the darkness came a voice , 'Kamerad'. We let him come in. Another, and another, six altogether. They rejoiced in their 'liberation', as they passed down, while we, almost enviously, turned our faces to the east again.

 

* * *

 

 

For six hectic days we held Montauban with German 5.9's dropping incessantly into the village, then went back to Happy Valley to rest. Well we knew the purpose behind the rest, but the senses become dulled by continuous horror, and the frantic fear of death becomes subsidiary to the more urgent concern of food and sleep.

On the night of July 13 we moved forward again. The weather had changed for the better and hot sunshine had baked the earth firm. By platoons, in column of route, we marched up and deployed before the German lines. It was like Hampden on International Day. R.E.s, acting as stewards, met the arriving platoons, and, escorting them to their respective stations, saw them spaced out to cover their allotted area. How this mass formation was accomplished without enemy interference is unexplainable. Officers were shouting, men cursing, and officials rushing about; the din and confusion caused much alarm and consternation. However, all were in position at last, so, taking advantage of the long dry grass, we lay down to rest and await the dawn.

Edited November 11, 200717 yr by Jupiter9

Oh my life, it sent shivers down my spine reading some of them

 

Very interesting to read.

:(

 

thanks for typing them up Jups :heart:

The Somme Part 3

 

In front of Longueval, on July 14, as the grey day was giving shape to the night's fantastic objects, the attacking British armies rose from the waving hay and trotted forward to battle. The first rush of the attack exposed the secret of the enemy's night time silence; they had been building strongholds at intervals all along their line. Those posts were barricaded 'front, flank and rear- by entanglements of barbed wire. The Germans in those defences caused such terrible havoc among the attackers that, like stones in a river, they split the advancing waves, and, diverting them to either side, caused severe congestion in the evacuated parts of the trenches.

In a trench numbers are a handicap, and the German storm troops, trained for this class of fighting, began to take full advantage of the situation. From behind an earthen rampart bombers were blasting out their near-hand opponents, while machine-guns were sweeping the straight and packed trench. The line that had been captured so easily was merely a death-trap, so, scrambling over their dead and wounded comrades, the terrified soldiers sought shelter in the shell-holes.

The attack was held up and the loss of life appalling until the light trench-mortar batteries arrived. Getting their quick-firing guns into action and dislodging the enemy was the work of a few moments and a short time later the objectives were reached.

 

* * *

 

 

The countryside, looking forward from Longueval ridge, was in full summer beauty. A sunken road, coming out of the village, cut between us and Delville Wood, dipped into the valley for about 500 yards, then, rising to the next crest, passed High Wood on its left fringe. Towards midday German soldiers appeared on the High Wood ridge, and, advancing into the valley, disappeared among the uncut hay. Wave after wave followed and all vanished at the same point.

We stood to arms awaiting an attack. Suddenly the Germans reappeared on our right, on a road behind Delville Wood. In groups of six they clambered from the ditch, ran across the road, and vanished. This procedure being continued, we soon had Lewis guns and rifles trained on the spot and began taking toll of the crossing parties. The fallen Germans began to accumulate in a mound which steadily grew higher and broader. We learned later that it was a regiment on its way to Delville Redoubt- and of those that got in, not one ever came out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Evening and despite the turmoil of battle the troops in little groups had cooked and eaten supper. As we were watching a solitary British plane circling overhead, the exciting news suddenly spread that the cavalry were forming up behind us. Eager to view this novel and interesting sight, we crawled out to the rear. In a hollow stood a solid block of horses with their riders in the saddle. Entranced by the spectacle, we ruminated on the many times we had pictured the Germans 'on the run'. Was the feat going to be accomplished?

The horses moved forward and jumped over the trenches. Deploying to 10 yard intervals, they trotted, line after line, into the valley. When 600 yards out, being unable to constrain ourselves, we jumped into the open and danced with joy. Suddenly, at a signal from the leaders, every horse wheeled round and galloped madly for the British lines. They had encountered a belt of wire too broad for the horses to leap and, from behind it, enemy machine-guns took heavy toll of both horses and men.

Saddened by the reverse we re-entered the trench, but again jumped out bellowing- 'Scotland for ever!' On our left Highland regiments were attacking; the troops, kilts swinging as they walked, advanced in long straight, orderly lines towards High Wood. Proudly we watched our fellow countrymen in that glorious attack- watched until the last man disappeared over the ridge- and then, as darkness was settling down, we looked for a nook to rest.

Edited November 11, 200717 yr by Jupiter9

The Somme Part 4

 

 

Next day the troops holding Longueval were almost annihilated by a German bombardment which started at daybreak and reached its highest intensity ere it stopped at night. The survivors were, as they thought, relieved next morning. Down towards Montauban they went, then, swinging left, travelled round Longueval and were formed up for attack on the right of Delville Wood. The division was massing for a last attempt to gain its objectives.

Delville Wood was pounded with shells of every calibre- grannies, mammies and babies- until it resembled a seething cauldron boiling over. A white, flickering flame lay on the ground, a thick smoke pall hung above it, while tree-stumps and branches mingled with stones and earth went soaring high overhead.

The barrage lifted and we moved forward. Machine-gun and rifle fire came from the redoubt. Men had actually lived through that infernal barrage and still fought. Too weak to run, too exhausted to care, we struggled forward. Comrades were silently dropping all the way until finally a mere remnant dropped into the shelter of convenient shell holes before the German lines. The attack had failed.

 

Rallied at night, we were led back to hold the left flank of Longueval once more. The general advance being temporarily checked had given the rival artilleries time to reorganise. On the 18th of July both sides kept up a furious and continuous bombardment around the village. Our scanty numbers were steadily growing less; companies which had started with over 200 men could barely muster two dozen. We were weak with hunger, overcome by fatigue and dazed by the chemically poisoned air. The Germans were smothering our lines with lachrymal gas (tear shells), which, despite our goggles, kept the eyes smarting with intense burning pain. Towards nightfall the shell-fire again intensified, but, as our crumbling trenches were now almost empty, casualties were less frequent. As in a trance we watched the black shells come hurtling down and felt the reverberating explosions, but only became interested when an exceptionally huge monster crashed near-hand.

At sunset an English regiment passed through us and attacked Delville Redoubt, but were repulsed and withdrew. During the night the Cameron Highlanders formed up amongst us, and at daybreak took part in a mass attack. This time Delville Wood was taken, so, our task in the opening stages of the Somme battle being accomplished, we were relieved and sent down the line. Here we were reorganised and marched off to the comparative quietness of Vimy Ridge to recuperate.

The Somme Part 5

 

 

Early in October we returned to the Somme. The beautiful countryside we had previously seen was now no more; the battle, like a shoal of locusts passing over, had left a seared and ravished trail behind. All the famous woods were gone and on their sites stood a few torn stumps. The long hay and waving corn were obliterated; not a shred of verdure could be seen for miles. Roads had been cleared and re-made, but the fields were pockmarked with shell craters- rim touching rim. Winter was fast setting in and the entire area was a morass of sticky mud.

Passing the erstwhile High Wood we saw the tanks for our first time. Two of them lay abandoned in the mud, and their positions verified the opinion of the troops who had seen them in action. They were proclaimed too big, too slow and too cumbersome. One had its nose pointing to the heavens, while its huge body lay in an enormous shell hole out of which it was unable to rise. The other had toppled onto its right side and lay helpless with its caterpillars in the air.

Near Martinpuich we were employed for a few days constructing light railways. These railways were being laid in all directions for the transportation of munitions, as the ruined roads were unable to carry heavy traffic.

 

On October 14 we entered the line at Warlencourt and took over trenches newly won from the enemy. The German losses in this part must have been appalling, as the trenches were full almost to ground level with corpses. They had been killed and also buried by the shattering explosions, and we had considerable difficulty getting them liberated and thrown over the top.

The battle by now was slowing down, but, during the afternoon, we witnessed severe hand-to-hand fighting around the Butte de Warlencourt. The enemy field guns were quieter than usual, but the heavies were firing continuously. Heavy shells have a demoralising and terrifying effect on the human mind, and, under their fire, men are inclined to seek solace in clustering groups. The folly of this is revealed when some gun registers a direct hit and the shell leaves some twenty or thirty corpses in its wake. Our company's main loss at Warlencourt was in that manner, one entire platoon 'going west'.

 

Owing to the mud it was impossible to make trenches for travelling in, so all communication was done over the open. One result of this was that no rations reached us during our four days stay. When our 'iron' rations were finished we were forced to haul in the decaying German corpses and search their packs for food. We found that every one had been supplied with a bottle of aerated water, a bag of biscuits, and a tin of bully beef. We relished the drinks and the biscuits, but the bully beef was so greasy that no-one could eat it.

On October 19 we were relieved, and, two days later, bidding a last farewell to the Somme, we took the bus 'down the line' and enjoyed a well-earned rest.

Edited November 11, 200717 yr by Jupiter9

And that's it folks. I have reports of a few other battles but I think I've typed enough.

 

I will however leave you with a letter my grandad wrote to a newspaper years later. It's quite poignant I think.

 

 

' We were advancing at Arras. Germans, semi-delirious by our terrific barrage, crawled piteously from the shell-churned earth.

One man, small and grey, holding a photograph before him, ran towards me muttering a pathetic appeal for mercy. I looked at the picture- a wistful-eyed mother and five wide-eyed children- then at the grey-haired father.

I saw a comrade raise his rifle - fire- an enemy drop to earth. Being sergeant, one word from me would have saved the old man's life, but I spoke not.

I still see that picture. A thousand times I have sprung to life crying the word that would have changed tears into joy'.

 

My grandad was 20 years old when he joined up. 22 years old when he fought at the Somme. :(

Thanks for typing this up jupiter, I find it difficult to read, in fact I almost skipped it, but glad that I did.

Those pics are very cool! The stories are very sad in parts as well, thanks alot for sharing this :D

Very interesting, thanks for sharing this.

 

I know a bit late, but better late than never, that was a really amazing and intriguing read, Jupiter, probably one of the most, emoitional and powerful few posts I have ever read on BuzzJack, The Somme story was veyr moving, and long but was still an amazing read, I just covered the Battle of the Somme, in History, so this has just added to my knowledge of it, Thanks very much ^_^

I know a bit late, but better late than never, that was a really amazing and intriguing read, Jupiter, probably one of the most, emoitional and powerful few posts I have ever read on BuzzJack, The Somme story was veyr moving, and long but was still an amazing read, I just covered the Battle of the Somme, in History, so this has just added to my knowledge of it, Thanks very much ^_^

 

well youre not 'late' actually, i pinned this thread as i considerd it could be viewed with interest for some time to come :) especially by new members.

well youre not 'late' actually, i pinned this thread as i considerd it could be viewed with interest for some time to come :) especially by new members.

 

Oh Nice! :D I suppose it could be a good read in memoriam when Nov 11th comes ^_^

Well it's November the 11th today.. And I read them for the first time. Very interesting ^_^ Thanks a lot for posting Jups ^_^