World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, British
We got into the trenches at about four-thirty on the morning of the
26th, and remained in them for something like twelve hours, and during
that time we took part in what was probably the fiercest battle that had
ever been fought up to that time, though there was worse to follow in
the Ypres region. We were rather unlucky, as it happened, because we
were forced to lie in the trenches and watch the other regiments and our
artillery shelling the enemy without our being able to fire a shot, for
we were so placed that we could not do anything effective against the
enemy just then.
The Yorkshire Light Infantry retired, and then came the order for the
West Kents to go. It was an order that needed the greatest care and
courage to carry out, but it had been given, and, of course, the West
Kents always do just what they are told to do. We did so now, with the
result, I am proud to say, that we carried out Colonel Martyn’s command
to the letter.
“Don’t get excited in any way,” he said. “Just go off as if you were on
battalion parade.”
And we did, and the colonel showed us how to do it, for he walked off
just as he might have walked off the barrack square, though all the time
we were under heavy shell fire and our men were falling. We lost a fair
number, but not many, considering the nature of the fire upon us.
We got as far as St. Quentin, which is a big town, trying to find out
where our regiment had gone; but we got cold comfort, for a man came up
and said: “It’s no good going in there. The town’s surrounded. The best
thing you can do is to put down your arms and surrender.”
We didn’t relish the surrender suggestion, and we started to make
inquiries. A sergeant who spoke French went up to a gendarme who was at
the side of the railway station, and asked him if it was true that the
town was surrounded.
The gendarme replied that he didn’t know, but he believed the statement
was true; anyway he advised us to remain where we were.
Not satisfied with that, about half a dozen of us went up to a French
cavalry officer and put the question to him.
The cavalry officer, like the gendarme, said he didn’t know, but told us
that the best thing we could do was to go on to a place, which he named,
about eight miles away, and off we went; but before we reached it we
came across a cavalry division, and learned that it was not safe to go
farther. Again we were advised to remain where we were, and we did for
the time being.
It was not until later that we discovered what a narrow escape we had
had, for three German cavalry divisions had been ordered to pursue the
retiring troops hereabouts, but through a blunder the order had
miscarried and the Uhlans did not follow us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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