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Dear all
A hundred years ago this week… A
pretty glum spell for the Allies all round. On the Western Front British and
Australian troops made some headway in the Battle Of Bullecourt – at Lens (May
10), Bullecourt itself and Roeux (12-13) – but against strong German
counterattacks and sustaining heavy losses.
The
French had a similar grinding time further south with the Second Battle Of The
Aisne drawing to a close amid German attacks from Vauxaillon to Craonne (May
7-13), with only small advances achieved at the Vauclerc Plateau (9) and Saucy (10).
Worse, the wave of mutinies really picked up speed, apparently in protest
against the attacks plotted by General Nivelle costing so many lives for so
little gained – during May 54 French Divisions experienced mutinies of various
sizes and 20,000 men deserted.
Down
in northern Italy the 10th Battle Of The Isonzo began (May 10-June 8; after a
five-month break since number 9). Encouraged by Nivelle, the Italian commanders
attacked Austro-Hungarian forces along a 40-kilometre front aiming to take
Trieste. At first, progress was made.
But
in Macedonia/Salonika the Monastir Offensive momentum from 1916 dissipated
entirely as the British lost the Battle Of Lake Doiran (April 22-May 9;
casualties 12,000 to the Bulgarians’ 2,000), and a combined Russian/French
assault at Crna Bend was beaten back by German and Bulgarian forces (May 5-9).
[Memoir background: my father, Lance Corporal Sam Sutcliffe from Edmonton, north London, under-age 2/1st Royal Fusiliers volunteer and Gallipoli
veteran [Blogs September 20, 2015, to January 3, 2016] had fought on the Somme Front
with his second outfit the Kensingtons (Blogs May 15 to September 25, 2016)… until
officialdom spotted his age – 18 on July 6, 1916, legally too young for the
battlefield – and told him he could take a break from the fighting until he was
19. He did so, though with an enduring sense of guilt. By December, 1916, he
ended up posted to Harrogate, Yorkshire, and re-allocated again, this time to the
Essex Regiment 2/7th Battalion, along with a bunch of other under-age Tommies training/marking
time – and in Sam’s case dicing with meningitis and other battle-fatigue
enhanced ailments – until such time as they severally became eligible for the trenches
once more…]
FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS
Last week, my father enjoyed one of those sweet
diversionary occasions in the company of civilians that so eased his heart –
despite the niggling guilt about his absence from the front line which always
lurked inside him.
Now
that pleasant soirée
continues, courtesy of his new pal Hackerman’s introduction to old family
friend Miss Frost and the assemblage of lovely young women she happens to have
gathered about her. Earlier, he enjoyed the curious thrill of meeting the
Tsarina of Russia’s goddaughter** – Alexandrina Allen who lived across the road
from Miss Frost. But here he’s moved on to another charmer… who gives him pause
for thought:
‘After circulating – as prompted and introduced by Miss
Frost – I rejoined my first ladyfriend and found pleasure in her account of her
life in that affable town. She required only the occasional remark of me and I
studied her simple black dress and saw what good taste could achieve with
little effort evident. She appeared to wear no make-up, yet the fair hair, flawless
complexion, and – what was rarer in those days – perfect white teeth, all
contrasting with the black dress made a lovely picture.
Comparably
careless of toilet and wearing a much used khaki uniform, I behaved with a
careful eye on a repeat invitation, wondering what sort of impression I was
making on this cultured young wife. Completely relaxed and friendly, she gave
me no cause for concern that she might be performing a be-good-to-our-soldiers
service.
At one point in
the evening the question arose, “What shall we have for supper?”, to which all
agreed there was only one sensible answer, “Fish and chips!” Then, overriding
all other offers, my friend insisted that she and I would go shopping, and I
found myself bustling through the dark streets arm in arm with this vivacious
lady, calculating how many portions would be needed, and probably wondering how
the heck I should pay for that lot.
I need not have
worried, I wasn’t even allowed to offer to buy the food. A wonderful evening,
though later I thought of another married woman who had walked those streets
arm in arm with a soldier, not her husband, and of the hasty opinion I had
formed about that matter***…
Like many another
recollector, I seem to remember most easily and most clearly, the sweet moments
of those long past days. How sincerely one hopes that all the good people who
contributed to those joyous occasions continued to live for many years in
perfect health and able to meet and contend with the trials which challenge all
of us at certain times in our lives.
During a few spare hours one sunny afternoon, Hackerman and
I wandered through the lovely Valley Gardens, sampled the healing waters from
the “poor man’s tap” outside the Spa buildings and walked in the pine woods,
enjoying for free some of the pleasures for which wealthy invalids and
self-indulgent hypochondriacs paid fat fees.
But thereafter, we
walked no more across The Stray**** to the weekly little gatherings in Miss
Frost’s basement, nor could we say goodbyes and thanks to the wonderfully
friendly ladies there, because that night we were told to have everything
packed ready to leave next morning on a long, route march.’
** For readers who didn’t
see last week’s blog and are curious about this reference… in 1894 Alexandra
Feodorovna, 1872-1918, later Empress Consort of Nicholas II, the last Emperor
Of Russia; the “Tsaritsa”, not “Tsarina” as the British usually called her,
stayed at the Cathcart House hotel across the road from Miss Frost’s home. While seeking a cure for her sciatica from Harrogate’s famous spa, she became
godmother to the owners’ twin children (because she took their birth during her
visit as a lucky omen) and asked their parents, Christopher and Emma Allen,
that they be named after herself and her then fiancé Nicholas, the then
Tsarevich (heir to the Imperial throne). By the time Sam met Alexandrina Allen,
the Emperor had been forced to abdicate (on March 15, 1917). In July, 1918,
after a period of imprisonment, the Empress, her husband and her family were assassinated.
*** See Blog 134 January
29, 2017. My father, ever the young puritan because of church and Boy Scout
influences, is recalling the way he’d dropped a girlfriend he’d “walked out”
with in Harrogate simply because he saw her
sister, who was married to a soldier away at the front, on the arm of
another. He describes his embarrassment here: ‘…walking in the town one
afternoon, I was amazed to see my girl’s sister on the arm of a soldier. I knew
she was married and her husband serving in France. She saw me as quickly as I
saw her. An awkward moment, awkward enough to prevent me from calling at their
home any more. So that brief acquaintanceship petered out.’ A hint of how
Sam pulled off the considerable feat of remaining a virgin throughout the war!
**** The Stray: 220 acres of grassy parkland around the
south side of the town centre, conserved by Act of Parliament since 1788 and to
this day.
Where that long march
leads the 2/7th Essex we’ll get to in July. This break in the
100-years-ago-this-week (more or less) blog narrative comes about because,
although my father wrote a very long book – about 600 paper pages – he didn’t
write enough about 1917 to divvy up into substantial chunks week by week for a year.
Clearly that’s because he and his fellow underagers were
essentially marking time until they passed 19 and became eligible to return to
the battlefield. And, in fact, the Army even took a little longer than they
might have to get Sam back to the Western Front – 19 on July 6, he lingered in
England until December before they shipped him out to France again.
So for the next few weeks I’ll be looking back to his childhood
and teens, taking a thematic approach, but with each blog drawing together
elements of the growing up which made him the young man, the young soldier, you meet
in most of these blogs and in the Memoir as a whole.
All
the best –
FSS
Next week: The Making Of
Foot Solider Sam, 1900-1904: a little boy sees his family fall from considerable
wealth into bleak poverty…
* In his 70s, Sam
Sutcliffe wrote Nobody Of Any Importance,
a Memoir of his life from childhood
through Gallipoli, the Somme, Arras 1918 and eight months as a POW to the 1919
Peace parade.
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