Sam enjoys an “unbelievably cushy existence” for a little longer because of the meningitis outbreak. Then it’s back to his Company and its nasty CO, the “unhappy, unjust” Captain Tarquin…

For details of how to buy Sam’s full Memoir* in paperback or e-book & excerpted Gallipoli & Somme episode mini-e-books & reader reviews see right-hand column

All proceeds to the British Red Cross

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Dear all

A hundred years ago this week… Activity everywhere, meaning from Ukraine down to Mesopotamia. Politically, USA edged closer to a war declaration when President Wilson decreed that merchant ships could arm themselves on the day a U-boat sank the freighter SS Algonquin off the Scilly Isles (March 12).

    But on the Western Front, you might have imagined that Germany was preparing for surrender as the strange spell of planned retreat to the Hindenburg Line continued so slickly that often the British and French took swathes of territory without much or any resistance. Concluding the “Operations On The Ancre”, the British advanced around Le Transloy and occupied Loupart Wood and Grevillers (March 12/13) en route to taking Bapaume and, moving south of the Somme, Fresnes (17), and progressing rapidly on a 45-mile front from Chaulnes to Arras (18). The French Army surged forward similarly on a 40-mile front, gaining Roye, Lassigny, Noyon, Nesle and Guiscard (17-18).

    During the week, the Russians lost their Czar, Nicholas II, by abdication (March 15) and his successor – his brother – a day later, as the Revolution picked up speed with riots in the streets and a Navy mutiny (16). But the Army carried on fighting. Though beaten back in Ukraine (12), it continued its successes down in western Persia, taking Alliabad and Kerind from the Turks (16-17).

    At that point the Turks decided to quit on their Persian campaign. Their 15,000 force headed west to meet up with their Mesopotamian Army of 10,000. But by then the British were following up the taking of Baghdad by pursuing the Ottoman Army briskly north by means of the railway (March 13-April 23; the Samarrah Offensive).

    Battling in Macedonia, north of Salonika, especially around Monastir saw Allies Britain, France and Italy taking on Austrians and Bulgarians, with all making gains in different sectors (March 12-18). The Austrian Army also had a rare success in northern Italy, breaking through defences in the San Pellegrino valley (16; Dolomites).

Meanwhile, my father, under-age 2/1st Royal Fusiliers volunteer and Gallipoli veteran (FootSoldierSam’s Blogs dated September 20, 2015, to January 3, 2016) Lance Corporal Sam Sutcliffe from Edmonton, north London, had fought on the Somme Front with his second outfit the Kensingtons (Blogs dated May 15 to September 25, 2016)… until officialdom told him they’d noticed his age – 18 on July 6, legally too young for the battlefield – and that he could take a break from the fighting until his 19th birthday. So he did, though not without an enduring sense of guilt. Via Harfleur and London, 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 for months of training until they severally became eligible for the trenches once more. However, for some, including Sam, all military activity was halted by some weeks in a hospital isolation unit because of a meningitis outbreak. He didn’t develop the disease, but while there his general health collapsed (the doctor’s diagnosis: the profound effects of trench warfare)… The hospital brought him some physical recovery via old-fashioned “feeding up” and a restorative Boy Scout-innocent romance with a nurse…

FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS

Last week, Sam concluded a partial recovery from the contrasting onslaughts of German measles and “war sickness” – but he still carried the meningitis bacteria in his throat so he returned to the group of underage pals caught in the same medical limbo, housed in another, cruder “isolation unit” comprising two or three Army huts:

‘A real rest camp this, for we had to do no work at all. Every moment of this unbelievably cushy existence had my sincere appreciation. I never lost sight of what might have been my lot if I had remained in France; my previous good luck over there must surely have deserted me by this time, so every day’s blessings had to be counted.

     The one female in the joint was a 40ish rubicund lady nurse of the VAD**, a famous volunteer nursing force. A kindly soul who blushed at the slightest compliment before I left for the fever hospital, now, she walked about quite defiantly with the arm of a lad young enough to be her son about her waist. Bless‘em both, they looked remarkably happy, so what had at first appeared to be ridiculous became humdrum and caused no comment. Possibly she regarded him as a son-figure but, knowing the young rascal somewhat, I doubt if he fancied himself as her pseudo-offspring, more as a potential father of such I’d say. I hope he didn’t achieve his nefarious ends.

Finally, all germs killed ­– and a horrible end must have been theirs, surrounded by that formaldehyde vapour which was hard enough for us toughies to stomach – back to the Battalion we went. There, I made a fresh effort to really become one of them. To achieve that aim, I carried out all orders to the very best of my ability. But still I never felt “accepted”. This complete Battalion which had so mysteriously remained in Britain*** – presumably to defend the homeland, should our great Army in France be shattered – formed a closed shop against us who had fought overseas.

     None of us could please our unhappy, unjust, unattractive Company officer, Captain Tarquin****. A weird type, reputedly the son of a wealthy family, he had expensive uniforms, yet he brought with him an aura of poverty – mental poverty, probably. His batman slaved away at polishing his leather strappings and shoes, this example conspicuously implying that the rest of us should do likewise. Some hope of that! We just didn’t have the time to spare – and no chance of being provided with batmen. The Captain had “avoiding” eyes and no valid claims to beauty with his red nose against a background of pale skin and surly mouth whence his harsh voice barked orders none too clearly. An almost childish, short temper completes my picture of one officer, perhaps the only officer, to whom I felt superior.

     What a gift he had for spreading gloom and despondency where all had been coarse gaiety before his bleary-eyed mug fouled the scene. And then why did so many men say he was too cowardly to be a Company leader? I never saw or heard of anything he undertook that could be counted a test of his strength of character, yet his subordinates despised him. It was freely forecast that when, if ever, he had to lead his men in active service conditions, he would fold up. Two hundred or more men would, in that event, fail to give of their best, perhaps die unnecessarily, or cause the deaths of others.

     Many of us who thought so harshly of one Captain would possibly behave no better when surrounded by erupting earthworks, shrieking shells, whining bullets and shattered bodies. But then we had not set ourselves up to be leaders of men. Some, like me, had applied much thought, and even a little skill, to avoiding or deflecting offers of higher rank and its responsibilities*****.’

** Voluntary Aid Detachment: founded 1909 with the help of the Red Cross; 38,000 served in World War I; members famous then or later included Vera Brittain, Agatha Christie, Amelia Earhart, and Freya Stark.

*** “The Lost Division”, is explained as fully as I can in a footnote to Blog 128 December 18, 2016. Although my father was there in the middle of it, in retrospect the story is hard to pin down because it has taken on urban-myth characteristics. Was it the same as “The Forgotten Division”, also referred to in some online docs. Although “exposed” by Horatio Bottomley (later jailed as a lying fraudster) in his weekly magazine John Bull, its identity remains unclear. Some suggest the 62nd (2nd West Riding) Division – there again, they were never stationed in Harrogate it seems! Meanwhile, the Essex Regiment website lists Sam’s 2/7th Battalion as part of the 12th Brigade 4th Division whom the esteemed Long Long Trail website lists as having been on the Western Front throughout the war. Well, my father’s recollection shows that something very strange had occurred to taint the atmosphere in this Battalion and/or Division, but I can’t say anything certain about the background. Perhaps “Lost” or “Forgotten” Division stories, true or false or somewhere in between, were simply a recurring theme of talk among men who had fought at the Front?

**** An alias: my father changed the names of most of the people in the book in order not to in any way upset living relatives.

***** Promoted to Corporal, and sometimes Acting Sergeant, on the Somme, en route to Harrogate Sam had removed his second stripe and apparently been accepted as a Lance Corporal once more – see Blog 127, December 11, 1916.

All the best – FSS

Next week: Sam gets to know his oddball companions in the Battalion – a song-and-dance man, an opera singer, a painter, a heavyweight boxer – but comes to scorn their useless Colonel. Still, the town decides to entertain the troops and two six-foot sisters hit the spot…

* 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.

Sam, still in hospital, resists the Siren calls of an “old” Army nurse, then says farewell to the sagacious doctor who diagnosed him as, basically, sick from war…

For details of how to buy Sam’s full Memoir* in paperback or e-book & excerpted Gallipoli & Somme episode mini-e-books & reader reviews see right-hand column

All proceeds to the British Red Cross

For AUDIO excerpts click Here  Join Foot Soldier Sam on Facebook Here

Dear all

A hundred years ago this week… After two years of mainly bogged-down warfare, the British Army on the Western Front experienced the strange sensation of pushing an open door as the Germans extended their strategic withdrawal – on the Ancre from March 11 they fell back to a reserve line from Le Transloy to Serre known as R. II Stellung, and further south, on the 10th, a British advance around Peronne and Irles brought the retreat to the Hindenburg line forward by a couple of weeks. Still, the French made hard-fought gains at the Butte de Mesnil/Maisons de Champagne salient (March 8).

    In the east, the Russians still raised a show of defiance despite the overstretching of their forces and food problems at home. Although their attack at Brzezany failed (March 6; Ukraine), they beat back a German advance near Mitau (8; Latvia) – and down in Romanian Moldavia they helped to recapture the Magyaros Ridge from the Germans (10).

    Fighting in Macedonia and the Dolomites proceeded inconclusively (the Allies v. Germany/Bulgaria and Italy v. Austria).

    Down in the southern Middle East, the Allies had a good week. The Russians pushed the Turks back in Kangavar (March 5), on the Hamadan road (8), and in Kirmanshah (11; all in western Persia), and also took Sinnah (9; Kurdistan). More significantly, the British Mesopotamian Campaign, having recaptured Kut on February 24, pressed on to take Baghdad (8-11) – undefended as the Ottoman Army continued their retreat along the Tigris and evacuated the city before fighting could begin.

Meanwhile, my father, under-age 2/1st Royal Fusiliers volunteer and Gallipoli veteran (FootSoldierSam’s Blogs dated September 20, 2015, to January 3, 2016) Corporal Sam Sutcliffe from Edmonton, north London, had fought on the Somme Front with his second outfit the Kensingtons (Blogs dated May 15 to September 25, 2016)… until officialdom told him they had noticed his age – 18 on July 6, legally too young for the battlefield – and that he could take a break from the fighting until his 19th birthday. So he did, though not without a sense of guilt. Via Harfleur and London, 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 and making their own entertainment until they severally became eligible for the trenches once more. However, for some, including Sam, all military activity is halted by a substantial spell in a hospital isolation unit because of a meningitis outbreak, then the temporary collapse of his general health (the doctor’s diagnosis: the profound effects of trench warfare)… which oddly leads him to a kind of Boy Scoutish romance.

FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS

Last week, my father began his recovery from threatened meningitis, full-on German measles and a range of boils and sores which his amiable old doctor in the isolation wards at Harrogate hospital put down to the after-effects of everything he’d been through in the front line at Gallipoli and the Somme – from poor food and sanitation to the emotional upheaval caused by shot, shell and the suppression of constant fear.

    His chief support in this had been little Nurse Flo and, naturally, they started to fall for one another. But Sam, clinging to the principles of sexual conduct set out by his vicar/choirmaster/Scoutmaster back in Edmonton, resisted temptation to steal anything more than a kiss, while Flo remained both professionally attentive and friendly as ever:

‘Soon I was over the measles and able to walk freely about the hospital. One day, when I passed the door of the small ward next to mine, a voice called, “Come in and have a chat!” I stood just inside the door, in case one of the staff came along. There were three beds, a girl of perhaps 20 occupied the middle one, with two women whom I guessed to be approaching 40 on either side of her.

     I learned that the older women were both Army nursing Sisters who had contracted German measles. They were mad about that! They smoked most of the time – unusual for women back then. The girl said little; she seemed overwhelmed by the presence of a male in her bedroom. What she felt later when, just as I was deciding to leave, one of the old’uns invited me to join her in bed I never knew. It sounded like a serious request and had the support of the other ancient — as they both appeared to me.

     Adjudged non-infectious, I was transferred to a four-bed ward and looked forward to a few days in male company as a change from the solitude of the isolation block – relieved only at intervals by nurses’ visits and my own wanderings. But no one joined me there, and so the evening talks with Flo, my affectionate nurse, became the high spots of each of my remaining days in that hospital.

     Came a morning when the Pickwickian, benign, round, pince-nez-adorned face of the head man looked at me across the empty ward, and I walked over and expressed my gratitude for all the care and kindness that had come my way since he had admitted me to this fine hospital.

     Pleased to know I had benefitted from my treatment, while he examined me for the last time, he questioned me about conditions in those places where I had seen service. My remarks about widespread dysentery among our men on the Gallipoli Front gave rise to enquiries from him about food, hygiene, sanitation and water supplies, details of which – or, rather, of their absence – remained fresh in my mind. I told him about how superior were troop-care methods on the French Front when conditions allowed their application**.

     I thanked him again, particularly for treating me on a civilian footing, and he deemed me fit to return to the small Army-hut hospital and to resume treatment for the CSM** contact throat trouble.

     Right away, my scruffy old underwear was returned to me, I dressed, climbed into an ambulance, and within a few minutes I was back in the hut where the lads still underwent the daily ritual of the many-spouted, copper boiler emitting jets of formaldehyde-laden steam.’

** See Blog 65 October 4, 2015 for Sam’s detailed account of Gallipoli front-line trench sanitation and Blog 99 May 29, 2017, for the same re the Somme/Western Front.

*** CSM is cerebrospinal meningitis, then colloquially known as “spotted fever”. Outbreaks quite often assailed troops confined together in barracks or other crowded accommodations, so they were hit by the three meningitis waves of early 1915, 1916 and 1917. Harrogate was north of the worst-hit areas, but presumably some inadvertent carrier brought the bacteria to them. See recent Blogs 135 February 5 and 136 February 12 for the story of how Sam and some of his underage pals became carriers and were sent to isolation wards, though he mentions only one of them succumbing to the disease itself.

All the best – FSS

Next week: Sam enjoys the “unbelievably cushy existence” of the isolation ward/huts for a little longer. Then it’s back to the Battalion and its nasty CO, the “unhappy, unjust” Captain Tarquin…

* 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.