1915_ The Death of Innocence - Lyn Macdonald [312]
Sgt. J. Beard, 1st Bn., King’s Royal Rifle Corps, 6 Brig., 2 Div.
Throughout the 26th, a Sunday, we waited in support, eventually getting to the front line by evening. As you can imagine, by this second day it was quite a battlefield scene. Horses were dead around a wrecked field artillery gun which must have been driven across the trench over some temporary bridge. There were other casualties, too, and I can recall looking at them and thinking, ‘Some mother’s son.’
I was afraid of being afraid, the more so because I had a responsible job as NCO. Actually there was a sense of relief that the inevitable had happened: ‘Let’s get it over!’ I suppose adrenalin flows and a person isolates the mind from thoughts of danger – gets on with the job.
There we are, fixed bayonets, waiting. A while previously Aunt Elizabeth had asked me what would I like in a food parcel. I’d asked her to send me a piece of home-cured boiled bacon and I had a small piece left. I was chewing it when the order came. ‘C Company. Over the top.’ Up we jump. Says I, ‘Well chaps, I’m not going to waste this,’ and there I went, bayonet in one hand, a piece of ham in the other.
Just previous to the command there was heavy enemy machine-gunning along our parapet which would have been murderous. But as we ran forward it ceased – for a spell. From that point I can recall every thought and action. I was thinking, ‘Mary, Mary,’ just looking at a picture of my lovely sweetheart in my mind. Afterwards I felt ashamed that I hadn’t thought first of Mother.
The trenches were possibly four hundred yards apart and half-way across there was a barrier of barbed wire which was supposed to have been blown to smithereens, but in fact we went through a gap in single file. The Germans could easily have wiped out our section. They held their fire, until we were through. Then they let us have it.
I was running by the side of our Company Officer, Captain Sumner. He asked, ‘How many are there left?’ I glanced around. ‘Three.’ Very luckily we were on the edge of a captured German trench. At that moment he was shot through the knee and said, ‘Jump into that trench.’ That was the last I saw or heard of him. Which left Lance-Corporal Priddy, DCM, and myself.
In a dug-out was sitting a lone Captain of a regiment which had unsuccessfully attacked. A wounded man was screaming out in front and the Captain said, ‘I wish you could fetch that man in.’ Priddy and I looked at each other, then we both jumped out. By this time it was quite dusk, about seven o’clock. I bent down, feeling corpses. Machine-guns were turned on us but I found the wounded man. He was shot through the stomach. I recognised him as a chap in my platoon I’d reprimanded for shooting pigeons. His eyes were pinpointed towards his nose through shock. I was bending over him when I was shot – a spate of bullets ragged my clothing and the emergency first aid pack sewn into the corner of my tunic was shattered. The feeling was like a red hot poker going through the flesh. I clapped my hands over my groin and I remember shouting, ‘Priddy, I’m shot.’ I stood like a fool for a few moments then I realised that I was still a target, so I fell down and rolled. I am sure it was pure luck that I rolled into what had been a German communication trench.
I could only crawl and drag myself along. The weather had been wet and everyone was covered in greyish-white chalk clay. I had to climb over sandbag barriers – all wet and shiny. Each time I got to the top of one I was above the trench, exposed to shells or bullets. After two of these I reached a barrier of piled-up dead men. I can still feel the thankfulness I felt as I got a good hold of the stiffs’ clothing and slid over!
Eventually I fell into a group of our own company. Fortunately I didn’t know how bad my wound was. I was soaked with blood. Someone cut off my right trouser leg and I remember a corporal saying, ‘Well lad, I can’t do anything with it.’ Lieutenant Adie gave me a drink of brandy from his flask – he was