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121 pages

English

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Ian Hay first hit the literary big time with his 1915 memoir of serving as a soldier in World War I, The First Hundred Thousand. This volume is a follow-up, in which Hay describes his experiences from the aftermath of the Battle of Loos through the Battle of the Somme.

Sujets

Histoire

Military history

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 octobre 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776672837
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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ALL IN IT: K(1) CARRIES ON
A CONTINUATION OF THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND
* * *
IAN HAY

*
All In It: K(1) Carries On A Continuation of the First Hundred Thousand First published in 1917 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-283-7 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-284-4 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Author's Note I - Winter Quarters II - Shell Out! III - Winter Sports: Various IV - The Push that Failed V - Unbending the Bow VI - Ye Merrie Buzzers VII - Pastures New VIII - "The Non-Combatant" IX - Tuning Up X - Full Chorus XI - The Last Solo XII - Recessional XIII - "Two Old Soldiers, Broken in the Wars" Endnotes
*
TO ALL SECOND LIEUTENANTS
AND IN PARTICULAR TO THE MEMORY OF
ONE SECOND LIEUTENANT
Author's Note
*
The First Hundred Thousand closed with the Battle of Loos. Thepresent narrative follows certain friends of ours from the scene ofthat costly but valuable experience, through a winter campaign in theneighbourhood of Ypres and Ploegsteert, to profitable participation inthe Battle of the Somme.
Much has happened since then. The initiative has passed once and forall into our hands; so has the command of the air. Russia has beenreborn, and, like most healthy infants, is passing through anuproarious period of teething trouble; but now America has steppedin, and promises to do more than redress the balance. All along theWestern Front we have begun to move forward, without haste or flurry,but in such wise that during the past twelve months no position, oncefairly captured and consolidated, has ever been regained by the enemy.To-day you can stand upon certain recently won eminences—WytchaeteRidge, Messines Ridge, Vimy Ridge, and Monchy—looking down into theenemy's lines, and looking forward to the territory which yet remainsto be restored to France.
You can also look back—not merely from these ridges, but from certainmoral ridges as well—over the ground which has been successfullytraversed, and you can marvel for the hundredth time, not that thething was well or badly done, but that it was ever done at all.
But while this narrative was being written, none of these things hadhappened. We were still struggling uphill, with inadequate resources.So, since the incidents of the story were set down, in the main, asthey occurred and when they occurred, the reader will find very littleperspective, a great deal of the mood of the moment, and none at allof that profound wisdom which comes after the event. For the latter hemust look home—to the lower walks of journalism and the back benchesof the House of Commons.
It is not proposed to carry this story to a third volume. The FirstHundred Thousand, as such, are no more. Like the "Old Contemptibles,"they are now merged in a greater and more victorious army—in an armednation, in fact. And, as Sergeant Mucklewame once observed tome, "There's no that mony of us left now, onyways." So with allreverence—remembering how, when they were needed most, these men didnot pause to reason why or count the cost, but came at once—we bidthem good-bye.
I - Winter Quarters
*
I
We are getting into our stride again. Two months ago we trudgedinto Béthune, gaunt, dirty, soaked to the skin, and reduced to acomparative handful. None of us had had his clothes off for a week.Our ankle-puttees had long dropped to pieces, and our hose-tops,having worked under the soles of our boots, had been cut away anddiscarded. The result was a bare and mud-splashed expanse of leg fromboot to kilt, except in the case of the enterprising few who haddevised artistic spat-puttees out of an old sandbag. Our headgearconsisted in a few cases of the regulation Balmoral bonnet, usuallyminus "toorie" and badge; in a few more, of the battered remains of agas helmet; and in the great majority, of a woollen cap-comforter. Wewere bearded like that incomparable fighter, the poilu , and we wereseparated by an abyss of years, so our stomachs told us, from our lastsquare meal.
But we were wonderfully placid about it all. Our regimental pipers,who had come out to play us in, were making what the Psalmist calls"a joyful noise" in front; and behind us lay the recollection of abattle, still raging, in which we had struck the first blow, and borneour full share for three days and nights. Moreover, our particularblow had bitten deeper into the enemy's line than any other blow inthe neighbourhood. And, most blessed thought of all, everything wasover, and we were going back to rest. For the moment, the memory ofthe sights we had seen, and the tax we had levied upon our bodies andsouls, together with the picture of the countless sturdy lads whomwe had left lying beneath the sinister shade of Fosse Eight, werebeneficently obscured by the prospect of food, sleep, and comparativecleanliness.
After restoring ourselves to our personal comforts, we shoulddoubtless go somewhere to refit. Drafts were already waiting at theBase to fill up the great gaps in our ranks. Our companies having beenbrought up to strength, a spate of promotions would follow. We had noColonel, and only our Company Commander. Subalterns—what was leftof them—would come by their own. N.C.O.'s, again, would have to becreated by the dozen. While all this was going on, and the old nameswere being weeded out of the muster-roll to make way for the new, theQuartermaster would be drawing fresh equipment—packs, mess-tins,water-bottles, and the hundred oddments which always go astray intimes of stress. There would be a good deal of dialogue of thissort:—
"Private M'Sumph, I see you are down for a new pack. Where is your oldone?"
"Blawn off ma back, sirr!"
"Where are your puttees?"
"Blawn off ma feet, sirr!"
"Where is your iron ration?"
"Blawn oot o' ma pooch, sirr!"
"Where is your head?"
"Blawn—I beg your pardon, sirr!"—followed by generous reissues allround.
After a month or so our beloved regiment, once more at full strength,with traditions and morale annealed by the fires of experience, wouldtake its rightful place in the forefront of "K (1)."
Such was the immediate future, as it presented itself to the weariedbut optimistic brain of Lieutenant Bobby Little. He communicated histheories to Captain Wagstaffe.
"I wonder!" replied that experienced officer.
II
The chief penalty of doing a job of work well is that you are promptlyput on to another. This is supposed to be a compliment.
The authorities allowed us exactly two days' rest, and then packed usoff by train, with the new draft, to a particularly hot sector of thetrench-line in Belgium—there to carry on with the operation known innautical circles as "executing repairs while under steam."
Well, we have been in Belgium for two months now, and, as alreadystated, are getting into our stride again.
There are new faces everywhere, and some of the old faces are notquite the same. They are finer-drawn; one is conscious of lesschubbiness all round. War is a great maturing agent. There is,moreover, an air of seasoned authority abroad. Many who were secondlieutenants or lance corporals three months ago are now commandingcompanies and platoons. Bobby Little is in command of "A" Company: ifhe can cling to this precarious eminence for thirty days—that is,if no one is sent out to supersede him—he becomes an "automatic"captain, aged twenty! Major Kemp commands the battalion; Wagstaffe ishis senior major. Ayling has departed from our midst, and rumoursays that he is leading a sort of Pooh Bah existence at BrigadeHeadquarters.
There are sad gaps among our old friends of the rank and file. Oggand Hogg, M'Slattery and M'Ostrich, have gone to the happyhunting-grounds. Private Dunshie, the General Specialist (who, youmay remember, found his true vocation, after many days, as battalionchiropodist), is reported "missing." But his comrades are positivethat no harm has befallen him. Long experience has convinced them thatin the art of landing on his feet their departed friend has no equal.
"I doot he'll be a prisoner," suggests the faithful Mucklewame to theTransport Sergeant.
"Aye," assents the Transport Sergeant bitterly; "he'll be a prisoner.No doot he'll try to pass himself off as an officer, for to get betterquarters!"
(The Transport Sergeant, in whose memory certain enormities of Dunshiehad rankled ever since that versatile individual had abandoned theveterinary profession, owing to the most excusable intervention ofa pack-mule's off hind leg, was not far out in his surmise, assubsequent history may some day reveal. But the telling of that storyis still a long way off.)
Company Sergeant-Major Pumpherston is now Sergeant-Major of theBattalion. Mucklewame is a corporal in his old company. Private Toshwas "offered a stripe," too, but declined, because the invitationdid not include Private Cosh, who, owing to a regrettable lapse notunconnected with the rum ration, had been omitted from the Honours'List. Consequently these two grim veterans remain undecorated, butthey are objects of great veneration among the recently joined for allthat.
So you see us once more in harness, falling into the collar withenergy, if not fervour. We no longer regard War with the leastenthusiasm: we have seen It, face to face. Our sole purpose now is toscrew our sturdy followers up to the requisite pitch of efficiency,and keep them remorselessly at that standard until the dawn oftriumphant and abiding peace.
We have one thing upon our side—youth.
"Most of our regular senior officer