Irish Voices from the First World War A blog based on PRONI sources General Herbert Plumer (1857-1932), Commander of the British Second Army, 1915-1918, was a regular and welcome visitor to Major-General Oliver Nugent at 36th Divisional Headquarters, D2216/4. October to December 1917 The third battle of Ypres (commonly known as ‘Passchendaele’) petered out in late October 1917 amid the mutual exhaustion of opposing forces. Field Marshal Douglas Haig (1861-1928) made the best of an anti-climactic failure to an offensive, which had been touted once again as likely the decisive wartime blow by the Allies, in declaring that the battle had ‘served its purpose’. Half a million British and German troops had been killed between August and October 1917. The western front was relatively subdued for the next few months. As it turned out this was the last of the massive trench battles of the character that had become familiar to foot-soldiers over the previous three years. The British tank offensive at Cambrai on 20th November stunned German forces and initially won considerable ground with few casualties. Worries mounted over the effect of the German submarine war on supplies of food in Britain. Italy was weakening and the front was reinforced by British and French troops. Everything was overshadowed internationally by events in Russia. Vladimir Lenin (1870-1924), leader of the new Soviet government moved to end the war with Germany. The Western Allies urged Russia to maintain its war footing but an armistice was negotiated between Germany and Soviet Russia on 15th December 1917. County Committees in Ulster assisted in the management of agricultural production, trying to boost UK food supplies in 1917 & 1918 (AG/2/5/X/1) Document 1: Reminiscences of Gunner James Fulton, Royal Horse Artillery, describing his first day at the front line in France in November 1917, [T2288/1] The recruit experienced rigid discipline and drill while training then swiftly realised that the realities of life as a soldier involved patience with confusion, disorder, indignity and, by necessity, improvisation and impish self-reliance. Having attained the ripe age of 19, in November 1917 and the lowly rank of unpaid Acting Lance Bombardier Signaller-Gunner Horse Artillery and after suffering repeated frustrations in my efforts to get to the Front, I was at last included in a Draft of reinforcements destined for France. On the final parade of the Draft on the square at Woolwich, I was unceremoniously stripped of my stripe, as the Battery-Orderly Sergeant explained there were sufficient paid N.C.O’s on parade to complete the draft. Thus I found myself once more a plain gunner but not stripped of my flags for which I received proficiency pay. The great day had arrived and after embarking at Southampton we crossed to Havre and proceeded to Harfleur transit camp. Here we spent our first night in bell tents without paliasses, lying shoulder to shoulder and feet to the centre pole, like so many sardines. Indeed this was to be our lot for some fourteen days. How important I felt writing home to my parents from ‘Somewhere in France’. At the expiry of this somewhat short ‘breather’ I was detailed for inclusion in an immediate draft for the Front. Our transport was rail – closed goods waggons with the famous lettering in French – ’40 men or 8 horses’. The railway platform was very long and it was quite dark, as we entrained. The train started and stopped several times but still we saw the platform and sheds. Then somebody shouted ‘Tea Up’ and out we scrambled and into an excellent Canteen, where a friendly girl from my home-town in Northern Ireland, handed me a steaming cup of strong tea and a man-size ham-sandwich, to which I did full justice, as I was ravenously hungry. The battery to which our draft was assigned was supposed to be at Passchendaele. We heard some grim rumours about this particular part of the Front and the Base Sergeant did nothing to abate them, by informing us that it was considered a suicide sector. After some seven days hunt for our Battery we at length caught up with it near Ribecourt, on the Cambrai Front. It was still dark when we reported at the Wagon- Line, in a wood, where men were asleep on ground sheets, covered over by large tarpaulins, for it was snowing. The horses were tied to lines between the trees. Instead of a friendly welcome, a gruff N.C.O. handed us (eight in number) a tarpaulin and told us to get some ‘shut-eye’ till day-break. We were so exhausted that in less time than it takes to recount it, we were oblivious to the whole war. However, it was a short respite for we were soon rudely awakened and given some hard-tack a dog would have queried and tea that looked as if the cook had washed his hands and face in it. Nothing daunted we made the best of it and shortly afterwards were detailed to wash wagon wheels with melted snow. The next day along with some others my name was called to proceed to the Firing Line. The transport was a GS Wagon and on the way I experienced my first baptism of fire. The enemy were aiming shells at an ammunition dump, alongside the road we were taking to the Gun Line. Fortunately the shells fell short of their objective, but uncomfortably close to our Wagon. All movement of troops in the forward zone took place under the cover of darkness, and on arrival at the six-gun battery, we found the men sleeping in improvised shelters (called tamboos) – against a low bank, door two foot high, and revetted with sandbags which supported a corrugated-iron roof, accommodating seven or eight men apiece. Peering inside one of these shelters I saw a Sergeant with his shirt off going along the seams with a candle flame. I was learning fast that Active Service was far removed from the spit and polish of Woolwich. ‘Time you blokes arrived’, he growled, ‘Get two petrol cans apiece and fetch drinking water from the well’. It was pitch dark as we groped our way to the village where among ruined houses we found the well, forty feet deep, from which we hauled up water in a damaged container suspended from a long rope. An occasional Verey light fluttered over ‘no man’s land’, which gave our surroundings a ghost-like appearance. Jerry was lobbing over an occasional shell in our vicinity and some six-inch guns of ours, hidden uncomfortably close to our path, belched out defiance. The Officer’s Mess at the Gun Line consisted of a hut, roofed with elephant cupolas, reinforced with sand-bags and heated with an old-fashioned stove. The guns sat in the open covered with camouflaged netting. Presently I was detailed as ‘Waiter’ at the Officer’s-Mess. Almost at once the Major commanding the Battery – called ‘Waiter, mix me a little mud’. He wanted a poultice for his leaking stove pipe. As the ground was frozen stiff it required the use of a pick-axe and a little drinking water. Thus began my first day at the front. Knowledge of the circumstances of many deaths was often painfully vague for close relatives but the family of this officer learned much of the pathos and brutality of his death (D1973/13) Document 2: Diary of Captain Godfrey John Mulholland, Army Service Corps, 4th June 1917 to 2nd Nov 1918, (D4179/9/2/8) Mulholland’s diary notes get across the anxiety and helplessness of troops under random shelling, day and night watching and waiting for the next concussion, every escape feeling like a small miracle. 12th Oct – Very comfortable billets at ---- but a long way from companies. The cavalry came through here but after two days went back again. I suppose they could find no use for them. Weather is very wet but our advance seems to progress well but slow. I gave up smoking for 6 days from 27th September to 2nd October. 13th Oct – Caught rather a bad cold, did not smoke today. 25th Oct – Cold better. We moved up to camp (tents & huts) a few hundred yards from Vlamertinghe. The Bosche during the night bombed our area very heavily between Vlamertinghe & ourselves. Our orderly nearly got one, luckily only mud hit him. Rather terrifying as we have no protection except one dugout capable of holding 2 people. Half full of water. 26th Oct – Got our tents sandbagged. Rode up with the Colonel to 300 yards this side of St Julien. We were sending over about 100 shells to their one but there were some very gruesome sights. At one place they put 6 shells running about 80 yards from us. The noise of our own guns & their shells was appalling. We rode back through Ypres which is an absolute ruin. The Cloth Hall and Cathedral simply have some of the walls standing. On nearing our camp, the Bosche sent over 3 shells just off the road & the whole afternoon & evening have been dropping shells about 2 to 3 hundred yards from our camp. I think they are trying to get the ammunition dump at Vlamertinghe, which is about 400 yards from us. 27th Oct – Sat up till 1 a.m. with telephone messages. Last night they bombed & shelled our camp but luckily no casualty. One dud landed 30 yards from my hut & a bomb burst 10 yards from our stables. 28th Oct – Motored with Colonel to Ypres & saw Teddy’s grave.