Letters From the Front

Dated: April 15, 1917

It is Sunday night, but no more like it than day is like night. A fairly heavy bombardment on our right has been going on since 6.30 this morning, and we are rather anxious to know what it's all about. And all day thousands of men, horses, wagons, lorries and guns have been passing--an inconceivable sight to anyone who has not witnessed it.

We sailed from England in March, 1917, were only one hour and twenty minutes crossing the channel, three transports coming together, and, if you could have seen the way we were guarded, to keep them back when our objective was reached. Everything went like clock-work and beyond all expectations; we put it over the Hun on every turn and he surrendered in bunches.

Our plans worked beautifully. Everything had been carefully rehearsed beforehand; each battalion had its own special work, and weeks before, we had studied the ground in front of our trenches, and the Hun trenches, from aeroplane photographs. We have certainly had a strenuous time the last three weeks, and the weather has been vile - rain, snow and cold winds, mud up to our knees and long marches in the night; but with all their discomforts, the Canadian boys have borne up cheerfully and made light of the whole thing. Three nights before the attack my company moved from our billets and went into support trenches. It was impossible to get any sleep; the crash of our artillery was terrific, and only a small portion of it was then playing on the Hun trenches. The next night we received orders to go and relieve a company in the front-line trenches, and in a downpour of rain and snow, we moved up. The trenches were the worst I had been in; water up to the knees, and none of us had waders. Even the dug-outs were flooded, and, when I was relieved for my 'hour off' duty, I went sound asleep sitting on a box beside a brazier. Next day we pulled off a raid on a small scale and obtained information regarding Fritz's wire. We knew that the big attack was coming off in a day or so, and all I prayed for was one night's rest. We got it, and the next day was bright so that the men could dry out. That night, however, the expected word came, and I moved my platoon up to the assembly trenches. I had a nervous time going up. Fritz evidently knew that something was to be pulled off as he was exceedingly windy, and his flare and sky-rocket effects were wonderful.

The trenches were so wet and muddy that I had to take my platoon overland to reach the front line, and here we were spotted by Fritz, who opened up with a battery of 'whiz-bangs.' We hiked for cover, waited until the strafe was over and then made for the front line, dropping on the ground when the flares went up. Then came the digging-in process in front of our front wire. We lined up our men in the following order: Old McGowen in the first wave, Archie Cornell on his left and myself immediately behind, leading the first wave of `Moppers-up,' with Kirkham (Lethbridge), whom you have met, another old 113th, leading the second line of `Moppers-up.' The other officers in the line-up are unknown to you. Most of the night was spent in digging in; then the long wait for the zero hour, about 4.30. I had a talk with McGowen (subsequently killed); the last I saw of him he was carefully looking over his men, giving his final instructions. Sharp on time, 5.30 a.m., Easter Monday, there came one big the whole weight of our artillery swept the Hun line and we walked out following under our barrage. It was a wonderful sight, and I shall never forget it. Dawn was just breaking, the sky was bright with the Hun fireworks, his infantry frantically sending up S.O.S. to his artillery, but he could do little against our stuff. Lines of Canadian soldiers with intervals between, and, on our right, a Scottish division with the kilts swaying and bayonets fixed. The noise was terrific, but above all the din of the big guns could be heard the rattle of the Hun machine-guns as they endeavoured to stop the rush of the Canadians. Men dropped out here and there but nothing could stop us, and we reached our first objective in record time. Here, there was a pause while our guns played on the Hun back trenches, and here I ran across young Archie Cornell , bright as a button, still leading his men.

From here the fighting was heavier, as Fritz had still machine-gun emplacements, and a murderous fire was poured out, one by one they were put out of action, and the crews, in a great many cases, killed. So far as my division was concerned, our work was nearly finished for the day, and the process of consolidation began.

I am not going to describe the things I saw that day; war is terrible, and certain things cannot be avoided. Considering what we have suffered at the hands of the Hun we let them off lightly. He is a rotten fighter individually, and can only fight behind a machine-gun. When that is out of action, it is 'Mercy, Kamerad!' The best meal I have had for some time, and one I relished highly, was after the last trench had been taken. I sat down in the trench among a lot of dead and wounded Huns, and one of the old 113th men and myself shared a tin of bully beef and hard-tack.

One of the funniest things that occurred to me during the scrap was when I had just reached the last objective. I had got separated from my gallant gang of `Moppers-up,' and the first thing I knew I found myself among a bunch of twenty Huns, who had got out of a dug-out and were beating it across towards us. They surrounded poor old 'Jonesie' like a swarm of bees, each one holding up his hands and shouting `Kamerad, Kamerad, Mercy!' and then began to pull out watches and other souvenirs. With my big frame glasses they probably took me for an enterprising curio hunter, and not a leader of His Majesty's forces. They looked so damned funny, and so frightened, that I forgot there was a scrap on and howled with laughter. I simply pointed to our old lines and they beat it-couldn't get there fast enough.

All day, and until the next night, we remained at our last objective, while other troops passed through us and drove the Hun back. It was beautifully worked, and by the afternoon lie was back three miles, and we had taken prisoners galore, officers and generals, guns and all sorts of stuff. The Canadian private had the time of his life. All sorts of souvenirs came into his possession; watches, caps, field glasses, etc., and the dug-outs yielded up lots of treasures. We took the Hun so much by surprise that some of them had no trousers on. I spent the afternoon sleeping in an officer's dug-out lighted by electricity, and on a comfortable bed that only a few hours before a commander had slept on. They even left us some fresh eggs, cases of soda-water and wine. It was a glorious day for Canada, and the boys thoroughly enjoyed it. We have had to pay for it, but not too heavily. Poor Mac was killed early in the fight. His batman states that he remarked that he had been hit, but struggled on. Poor Archie Cornell, the brightest little sport in the battalion, was killed fifty yards from the final objective. Campbell , who played tennis in Calgary, a friend of Sheffield's, was killed early in the game; Kirkham was wounded. When the final objective was reached, two of us were left in my company-the O.C. and myself. He had been wounded twice but carried on until the next morning, when he went back to the Clearing Station, and I assumed command of the company -the only one left without a scratch. In the evening, when I led them back over the ground we had taken from the Hun, now covered with snow and dead, one of them remarked, 'Well Mr. Jones, they said in Lethbridge that we of the 113th were a bunch of booze-fighters, but we showed them to-day what we could do.' And they certainly did; and a gamer bunch never donned the King's uniform.

Well, I can hardly imagine that so many things have happened in such a short time, where the ground so short a time ago held by Fritz is now ours. It was wonderful to see our artillery push forward, and also our cavalry; I even saw the tanks go by, and, as for our air service-it was magnificent; it was 'some show,' and it is still going on.

Poor Mac , good old sport, and the other lads, played the game to the end. We buried them to-day back in the village burial ground.

P.S. - Among the documents found on German prisoners was one from the General Staff, stating that they had received information that an attack would be made by the British, and that 'the troops opposite them were Canadians, first-class troops; they never had deserters from the Canadians.'