With The Immortal Seventh Division

THE SEVENTH DIVISION

'A telegram, sir!' and a mounted orderly who had ridden over from Larkhill, stood outside my tent at the Bustard's Camp, Salisbury Plain, at 5 a.m., on September 17, 1914.

In that remote part of the world so removed from the benefits of ordinary life, we were yet in receipt of our daily papers at that early hour in the morning, and I was enjoying a twenty-four hours' history of the world, at the moderate price of a penny, when the brief tones of the orderly aroused me from its perusal. Its contents were startling: 'You have been selected for immediate foreign service. Report yourself early to-morrow morning at the War Office.' For some days past I had been doing duty with my Territorial Battalion, the 7th Hants; but daily I had been hoping that I might be able to throw in my lot with the great mass of men, who had volunteered at the call of King and country.

During the month of August I had been shut up at the Riffel Alp with some seventy other unfortunates; kicking our heels in enforced ignorance when we would fain have been near the centre of information, if not of service. Unable to travel owing to the railways of Switzerland and France being required for the mobilization of troops, we could only possess our souls in patience. It was a time never to be forgotten, for although our English blood was stirred by the rumours that reached us of an expeditionary force being landed in France, under General Sir John French, and of even greater significance, the mobilization of the English Fleet, yet our only source of information was derived from the Corriere della Sera, the communiqués of which were supplied by the Wolff Agency. Our state of mind can be readily imagined when I mention such points of reliable news as the 'Destruction of the English Fleet; Death of Sir John French; Invasion of England; London taken; Bank of England in flames.' Of course we knew that this was false, and yet there was no possibility of rebutting the statements.

For nearly a month we alternated between hope and fear. The effect of the bright Swiss sunshine would at times render us optimistic, and then the fall of night would once more see us plunged into the depths of a helpless pessimism. However, the time came when the little English colony struggled through the difficulties of railway transport, and arrived once more in the region of authentic information. The journey home, which occupied three days, was full of interest, for France was throbbing with 'la guerre' and 'la gloire'; train after train with troops bound for the Front, swept by us; while at Lyons we encountered an ambulance train full of wounded, and another of German prisoners. My party had the advantage of travelling with the wife and son of a Cabinet Minister, and through Sir E. Grey's kind solicitude for his colleague's people, the best possible accommodation was provided for us, but even that powerful interest was not always sufficient to prevent delay and discomfort. On reaching Creil, the junction for Belgium, we found the station full of English troops in their retreat from Mons, and many were the stirring stories gathered from our retiring, but not disheartened men. The spirit of the French troops much impressed us; unaccompanied, my ladies went among them with confidence, and on every hand were treated with the consideration of gentlemen. I remarked on this to a French gentleman who was travelling with us, and he said with warranted pride, 'But they are gentlemen, monsieur.' Some of the wounded French took the greatest interest in describing to us the circumstances under which they had been hit,-some, as the manner of soldiers is, displayed the bullet or piece of shrapnel which had laid them low.

Nearly all the troop trains going to the Front were decorated with flowers and evergreens, whilst the stations and villages were alive with enthusiastic people assembled to cheer their men onward to their glorious and dangerous task.

It was with thankful hearts and very travel-stained persons that we finally reached home, heartily agreeing after our exciting experiences that a little goes a long way.

I had at the earliest moment possible volunteered my services to the Army Chaplains Department, but was informed that there was no prospect at that time of my being called upon; accordingly I joined my Territorial Battalion, under Colonel Park, and was awaiting a summons to service, here, there, or anywhere, when, as I have described, the call came. I have often wondered why the War Office always springs upon one with such alarming suddenness; possibly it is the way of the Army; it is certainly disconcerting, although it is educational, for it teaches one to be always ready and alert for any emergency.

And now the order had come, and there was hurrying to and fro; a rapid dash home; a putting together of kit which would be required in the unknown life about to be entered upon. A last night at home; and then the reporting of oneself at the War Office; the signing of a contract for twelve months' service; a medical examination as to physical fitness; an hour or two's shopping at Harrods (where one developed a tendency to think of everything not wanted, and to forget what was really useful); and finally Waterloo Station, that scene of many farewells. 'Good-bye' has so many significations. It may be uttered at the parting for a couple of hours; it may be uttered, and often is, in these days as the final word on earth to much loved ones. Oh, these partings! how they pull a man's heart to pieces; and yet, with that remarkable insularity which characterizes our race,-or should I say races-it is one of the things seldom or never mentioned among men on service; and yet I suppose it is always uppermost in a man's mind. Again and and again I have lit upon men in out of the way corners, reading a well worn letter, or perchance gazing at a photograph, every facial lineament of which was already well stamped upon the mind of the gazer. It is one of the mental attitudes which go to form a spirit of comradeship; the feeling that it is all part of the game, and we are most of us tarred with the same brush.

I had received my orders at the War Office, to join the Seventh Division then mobilizing at Lyndhurst.

The Seventh Division! that meant very little to me, and indeed to the public generally at that time, but what it signified to the nation will be more fully appreciated when the history of this war is written.

It may be interesting to give particulars of the composition of that, which I believe is the first Division ever to march out of an English camp fully equipped.

Under the command of Major-General T. Capper, C.B., D.S.O.,[1] now Sir Thomson Capper, K.C.M.G., C.B., D.S.O., it represented the very flower of our Army, possessing a Staff of most capable officers.

It consisted of:-

Divisional Signal Company;

Divisional Mounted troops;

Northumberland Hussars;

Cycle Company;

Four Brigades of Artillery (R.H.A., R.F.A., R.G.A.);

Two Batteries R.G.A.;

Divisional Ammunition Column;

Divisional Engineers, two Field Companies;

20th Infantry Brigade,-

Brig.-General H.G. Ruggles Brise, M.V.O.;

Brigade-Major A.B.E. Cator.

2nd Scots Guards;

1st Grenadier Guards;

2nd Border Regiment;

2nd Gordon Highlanders;

21st Infantry Brigade,-

Brig. H.E. Watts, C.B.;

Brigade-Major Captain W. Drysdale.

2nd Bedford Regiment;

2nd Yorks;

2nd Royal Scots Fusiliers;

2nd Wiltshire Regiment;

22nd Infantry Brigade-

Brig. S.T.B. Lawford;

Brigade-Major Captain G.M. James, The Buffs.

2nd The Queens;

2nd Royal Warwick Regiment;

1st Royal Welsh Fusiliers;

1st South Staffs Regiment.

Divisional Train;

Four Companies Divisional Medical Units;

21st Field Ambulance;

22nd Field Ambulance

23rd Field Ambulance

The mobilization of a Division for Active Service is a vast business; everything has to be thought of and provided; there must be a thorough equipment for the men, horses, and transport; medical stores, saddlery, farriery, etc., etc., not a thing must be forgotten, for in those early days of the war there was no well-equipped Ordnance Department on the other side. Each Field Ambulance is a dispensary on wheels, comprising the hundred and one field comforts which warfare rightly provides for the lamentable wrecks that pass through the hands of the R.A.M.C.

The question of horses is no slight undertaking, and certainly gives rise to no little heartburning, as every mounted officer naturally tries to secure a good mount. To me it was a specially serious matter; when a man walks 15.8 and rides another two stone at least, considerable care has to be exercised in the selection of his equine friend, who has to bear with him the fatigues, trials and risks of a campaign. I shall ever feel the deepest obligation to Captain Kennedy Shaw, O.C., Remounts Department, Salisbury, for supplying me with one of the best horses I have ever ridden; a big upstanding bay, with black points; deep chested; good quarters; with the most perfect manners, even under the heaviest fire, which could be desired. Strangely enough his name (which was tied to his halter) was 'Ora Pro Nobis,' a not inapt cognomen for a padré's horse. He must have come out of a good stable, and I often felt that someone must have hoped that he would fall into good hands. Should this by any chance be read by the owner, let me say that both my groom and I took the greatest care of my good steed until the day when German shrapnel ushered him into 'the eternal hayfield.'

They were happy days at Lyndhurst, where the Division remained for a fortnight. The future stress of awful losses was only a bare possibility then, although it was on the horizon of many men's hearts; but at the time it was ignored, for many of the officers had their women folk staying, either in the village, or near at hand; and the lawn of the 'Crown,' the Divisional Head-quarters, was a bright and happy centre of pleasurable intercourse.

It was a strange experience to be ushered into the very vortex of a soldier's life, although my experience of military camp life was not a new one; in far back years happy service in a kilted regiment had left a mark which time has not effaced.

A very cordial reception from General Capper set me at my ease; whilst Brig.-General Ruggles Brise, to whose Brigade I was attached, and to whose kindness and courtesy I owe much, assured me of the good will of the powers that be. The General posted me to the 20th Brigade-a noble appointment indeed; for such troops as the Grenadier Guards, Scots Guards, Gordon Highlanders and Border Regiment were good enough for any man.

The Parade Services I held while at Lyndhurst were an inspiration. The prayer card issued by the Chaplain-General was greatly appreciated by officers and men. I arranged for the distribution of 15,000 of them in the Division, and they were eagerly accepted by all from the Generals downwards. On many an occasion in the after days I came across these cards tucked away in the lining of the caps of dead and wounded men. Nothing can exceed the beautiful simplicity of the prayer, a copy of which I venture to insert:-

A Soldier's Prayer.

Almighty and most Merciful Father,

Forgive me my sins:

Grant me thy peace:

Give me thy power:

Bless me in life and death,

For Jesus Christ's sake.

Amen.

(On the reverse side.)

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, The power, and the glory, For ever and ever.

Amen.

The other Chaplains of the Division were:-

Church of England: The Rev. Hon. T. George Maurice Peel, 21st Brigade.

Presbyterian: The Rev. W. Stevenson Jaffray.

Roman Catholic: The Rev. Father Moth.

It was on October 4 when my wife, daughter and myself were about to take tea with Captain Douglas of the Staff-alas! now dead-and his wife, that he hurriedly rode out of the 'Crown' saying, 'The order has come to stand by.' The news was welcome, for we were growing weary of waiting. Immediately the troops began to move off; the unit to which I was attached-23rd Field Ambulance which served the 20th Brigade-left at 2.45 a.m., reaching Southampton about six. It is of interest to note that a Division of troops of over 15,000 men makes a brave show upon the road, its length from the van to the rear being not less than twelve miles.

Apparently the cheering folk along the road passed a sleepless night, for at every hamlet and village people lined the road, waving us their farewells; and from many a cottage window kindly faces could be seen silhouetted against the light of the room, cheering us onward with hearty words.

The embarkation at Southampton was a busy scene, and took many hours to accomplish, but finally fourteen huge transports got under way, and steamed up Channel for Dover. There we 'stood off and on' until 9 p.m. on October 6, when picking up our pilot we steamed out into the Down in the quiet of the autumn night.

The names of the officers who composed the mess of the 23rd Field Ambulance were: Major Crawford (now Lieut.-Colonel), Major Brown, Captain Wright, Lieut. McCutcheon, Lieut. Mackay, Lieut. Hart, Lieut. Priestly, Lieut. Wedd, Lieut. Beaumont, Lieut. Jackson (quartermaster), Col. the Rev. W. Stevenson Jaffray, and the writer; on the whole a very cheery, hard-working set of officers, whose work met with high appreciation of Head-quarters, in due course.

Many conjectures were on foot as to our destination, but when we found the course was north-east, we knew that France was out of the question, and Belgium loomed large in our imagination.

The scene was an eerie one as the black hulls of the vessels moved quietly over the placid sea, with a protective squadron of torpedo destroyers surrounding us. It was sufficiently risky to give a piquance to the experience.

The Admiralty had laid mines from the Goodwin Sands to the Belgium coast, and it was a remarkable feat of pilotage which took the whole fleet through this mine zone in safety to its destination. The naval officer who acted as pilot to the Victorian, on which I was aboard, informed me the next morning that it had been the most anxious night of his life, and I can well understand it, for the responsibility upon a man, under such circumstances, was a heavy one.

Coming on deck in the early hours of the following morning I saw the low-lying Belgium coast bathed in sunlight; Zeebrugge lying a couple of miles to the east. It was with a very thankful heart that I realized that the first risky stage of our movement towards the Front was over.

In due course we warped in alongside of the massive Mole at Zeebrugge; and admired the huge proportions of a quay, which I understood had been built by the Germans. Large as it was, there was not sufficient room for all the fleet of transports, so half the Division landed at Ostend and joined us later.

The landing scene was stirring, and full of interest. All sorts of troops were mixed together in apparently inextricable confusion; Guardsmen, Highlanders, Linesmen, Sappers, Gunners, Cavalry and the ubiquitous A.S.C. were moving about in the keen delight of being on the soil that they had come to free from the oppressor; but the miracle of military order and discipline soon evolved order out of chaos; and the whole column moved off for its nine or ten mile trek to Bruges.

With elastic step and cheery voice the men swung along to the inspiring strains of 'Tipperary.' The road was typical of Belgium; the long avenue of poplar trees, flanked by broad ditches, being the distinguishing feature of this and most Belgium roads (the centre being composed of cobbles, with macadam tracks on either side). Every one felt keen, and the horses, fresh from forty-eight hours' confinement in their very close quarters between decks, enjoyed the freedom as much as the men.

On reaching Bruges, which was in total darkness, owing to the fear of enemy aeroplanes, we received our instructions to proceed to an outlying suburb of the city; and presently drew up in a field, bounded by houses of the humbler description. The early morning was distinctly autumnal, and a ration of biscuit, bully beef and steaming hot tea was not to be despised. Late though it was, many people were about, occupying themselves by gazing, half in wonderment and half in admiration, at the first visit of khaki to their neighbourhood.

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FOOTNOTES:

[1] This brilliant officer was killed in action at the end of September, 1915.

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THE TREK THROUGH BELGIUM

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