This might also be of interest

 

http://www.grandfathersgreatwar.com/index.html

 

Wow :o

 

My grandad was in the same regiment. The 9th Scottish Rifles were otherwise known as the Cameronians. I wonder if grandad Jupiter and that other soldier knew each other? :unsure:

Edited November 11, 200717 yr by Jupiter9

Wow :o

 

My grandad was in the same regiment. The 9th Scottish Rifles were otherwise known as the Cameronians. I wonder if grandad Jupiter and that other soldier knew each other? :unsure:

Wow :o indeed. Perhaps you should download the whole thing and see if there's any mention of your grandad. Or have you got any photos so you can try and spot him in the picture on the website?

I'm going to ask Mother Jupiter to see what she knows. :cheer:

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.

 

 

I have a great picture of "The Battle of the Somme" on my living room wall. This is a great read

Its tragic that people have not taken on board the horros of what you wrote about... maybe the human race will learn its lesson one day....

Today was the anniversary of the opening day of the Somme. Didn't see a thing on telly. Lest we forget indeed. :(

War is not the answer.

 

lynda :heart: