Andrew Wareham: End to Illusion

Richard grinned.

“I thought that. He is to spend a fortnight standing at the shoulder of the officer of the day, all day, every day, until he knows the job. Then he can spend thirty days in the function, which requires him to wake twice in the night and appear in uniform. At the end of that time he should be staggering with exhaustion!”

“With any luck, Baker, he will see the latest request for volunteers from the RFC and choose to leave us. He don’t sound as if he will make the grade with us so I shall be more than happy to give him a suitable report and send him on his way.”

“I am sure that flying will suit his talents, sir. I will make sure he sees the notice and that he is encouraged to apply. For the rest of them, sir, should we do something for them?”

They discussed the question and decided that the new officers must be brought up to their standards.

Seven new second lieutenants were brought to parade out of sight behind the mess building, still digesting their lunch. Richard stood to their front, together with Sergeant Abbott.

“You have had nearly a week to settle into the battalion, gentlemen. Some of you have done that. Others require some help, it might seem. Sergeant Abbott will be assisting you with your drill, as it is practised in the trenches. Abbott has substantial experience in the field and carries the Military Medal, well won. I will expect your cooperation, gentlemen. Having gained the basic knowledge, which will come quicker for some of you than others, no doubt, your company captains will take over your training. Carry on, Sergeant Abbott.”

Abbott reported in company with three of the second lieutenants at the end of the afternoon.

“Beg pardon, sir. These three gentlemen probably know more than I do about basic field evolutions. Not necessary for them to continue with the four others, sir.”

“Excellent! Thank you, Sergeant Abbott. Carry on. If you will remain a few minutes, gentlemen?”

They stood to attention and waited for the sergeant to leave.

“I do not know you yet, I am afraid. I have been rather busy in the office, trying to rebuild the structure of the battalion. If you would introduce yourselves again, please?”

“Messer, sir. Victoria Militia, sir. Lieutenant there for three years.”

Messer was short and broad in chest and shoulders, a strong man physically, face well tanned from an outdoor life, probably little more than twenty, a mild Australian twang to his voice.

“You happened to be here in England, Mr Messer?”

“No, sir. I was in South Africa, getting experience in the gold fields, underground. My father had arranged it for me. We have some interests in mining at home.”

“And you took ship to England to join up. Well done.”

“When it became clear that it was not going to be a short affair, over by Christmas, sir.”

“Who is next? Let me see, you are Mr Godstone, are you not?”

A taller man and athletic seeming, in his early twenties.

“That’s me, sir. Come over to see what was happening and got the chance to join up, on the sly, sir.”

“That is not a Canadian accent, I believe?”

“No, sir. American, sir. I attended the Citadel, sir, and had intended to take a commission in the US Army – but you’ve got a war and we have not, sir.”

“Yes.”

Richard’s face was blank – he had never heard of the Citadel or any other military college, the institution being unknown in Britain, Sandhurst being exclusively for officers who had already joined the Army.

“Well, you are very welcome, Mr Godstone. We need well-trained officers and you certainly seem to be that. Where exactly is this, ah, Citadel?”

“South Carolina, sir, but it accepts students, cadets in fact, from all over the States.”

“Very good. I presume you are officially Canadian, on your papers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Best you remain that way, Mr Godstone. With the States being officially neutral, there could be some objections to your presence in our ranks, and we certainly do not want to lose you.”

Richard turned to the remaining second lieutenant, an older man, into his thirties.

“Willoughby, sir. I served two years with the Rifles, sir, until my elder brother died in a riding accident – he fell when out with the Quorn. My father demanded that I send my papers in and learn the estates, sir. When it became clear from the losses that all experienced soldiers were needed, sir, I returned to the Colours.”

“Did you see service with the Rifles?”

“Only in Ireland, sir.”

Ireland was a home posting, although occasionally violent.

“Well, you will see action with us, gentlemen. I am glad you are here and will need your assistance. You have seen how green the battalion is. Neuve Chapelle came close to destroying us. Seven new second lieutenants, four lieutenants and as many captains. Fifteen new officers and three returned from hospital and having to fully recover their fitness. We lost the bulk of our sergeants and corporals as well. The best men had been promoted, of course. Being the best, they were prominent and were caught by the machine guns. A few will return to the ranks eventually. For the while, I need your assistance to bring us back to what we were – an experienced, crack battalion. We sailed to France on the third day of the war and marched with the leading battalions and fought all the way to Ypres. We will return to France later this year – we have the War Office’s promise on that. We must be on the very top of our form when we sail.”

The three nodded respectfully.

“Beg pardon, sir. What do the men need in the trenches? It must be different to the soldiering we have been taught before the war.”

“Good question, Mr Godstone. Basically, the men need to be alert, awake to shells coming in and the possibility of raids in the night. Much of the life is simply tedious – cold, wet, poorly fed and with little to do. It is like being in a siege, waiting for something to happen and unable to control what. Where possible, I shall organise raids at night, to keep the men active and alert. Your job will be to know the men – watch them for illnesses particularly. Many will not report sick for not wishing to be sent to the rear or returned to England. A few will become erratic, officers as well as men, and may need to be sent away for treatment in a special hospital. The strain is the biggest problem. Keep them amused. Let them play games or read books or take up hobbies – knitting as an example. Encourage them to do so, to sing and to whistle. Anything to keep them occupied. Obviously, watch them for cleanliness, but do not chase them too much! We had one officer who attempted to introduce daily inspections – a parade with blancoed belts and webbing and polished boots and spotless uniforms in six inches of mud!”

They nodded thoughtfully.

The concept of a parade was in no way alien to them; they could see it was ridiculous in a trench.

“A last point, gentlemen. Protect them from the brass, which includes me. If I see a bottle of illegal gin, I must take action. Make damned sure I don’t see such a thing!”

“Which don’t mean no gin, sir…”

“Exactly, Mr Godstone!”

They grinned quietly.

“Will you be telling the boys this, sir?”

“Not yet, Mr Willoughby. They must learn the absolute basics first. Wincanton is learning the hard way; the other three may need to be shaken up as well. You will assist me by speaking to them, if you would be so kind. You are from the same background as them and they may well listen to you. They might not hear anything said by an American or a colonial.”

Godstone laughed.

“Heard that already, sir. Eighteen years old and know nothing other than some sort of schoolboy cadet club. I mentioned that I had taken a bachelor’s degree in science and military studies but they did not seem to comprehend what a degree was – thought they were a certificate to show that one had been to Oxford. In any case, American learning could not be a substitute for a proper education.”