December 21st 1914 - Festubert - Night has come and gone, the rain has not, for the rag tag groups holding the line from Givenchy to Neuve Chappel it seems an endless struggle. There is hardly any banter any longer, the men are in shock. Some respite has been realised when the reserve battalion of the Manchesters arrived and forced the Germans, by bayonet charge, from the village of Givenchy, but, apart from that, it has been an incessant fight. Seaforth Highlanders, Suffolk Territorial, Black Watch, Grenadier Guards and newly arrived 2nd battalion Leicester replacements are fighting hand to hand all along the front - alongside them, Jats, Gurkha, Sikh and the remnants of the battered Indians struggle on . The first elements of two replacement divisions have dribbled into the line, those regiments virtually destroyed in October have been rebuilt, companies back to one thousand men, mostly fresh. They arrive shocked at the state the defenders are in, trenches are just drainage ditches, most men are wearing tattered clothes, everyone is wet through, officers, no matter what the seniority, are fighting alongside their men. No one has now eaten for seventy two hours, everyone is shivering with the cold. As if by some divine hand there is a brightness on the sky line, a thick bank of clouds has drawn a line from one side of the horizon to the other, behind it the low sun peeks through like a searchlight, rays pick out the scene of hell to the south east of Ypres. Other battles, less intense than ours have been going on for days to the north, and in the Champagne region, ninety thousand French are about to go into battle against one hundred and thirty thousand Germans. France and Germany, once sisters, now completely embraced in a fight to the death. The war between them will be decided by the last million men. Everyone wonders how Germany can keep going, the truth is it is already fully mobilised, the draft now extended to boys aged fifteen to men aged, well, any age- if they can walk, see, hear and fight they are taken into arms. Bodies litter the three mile section of our line, many in grotesque forms, arms held upwards, frozen in position, legs splayed and broken, headless men standing virtually upright, as if on guard, pinned on the barbed wire. It is a mix of grey and green, highlighted against the light brown chalky mud. The suns ever expanding rays lighting them, as if to say, do you see what you have done? Blackader, covered head to foot in mud, his thinning hair matted on his forehead and with all signs of rank covered, stands at the entrance to the command dugout, just recovered from the advancing Germans. The Manchesters are back, the reserve battalion, pushed through and into the same line that their first battalion had vacated just a few days ago. They are already muddied, but to the men from Leicestershire they look like they have just come off the parade ground. It has taken some time for the Manchesters Major to locate Lieutenant Colonel Blackader, camouflaged as he is by the earth he has been fighting over. As he does so the rain stops, suddenly as if by the turn of a tap, the line of clouds continues its roll towards the east and the sun appears. “You can go Sir,” says the Major, with a smart salute. Blackader wearily acknowledges with a flash of hand to the forehead then calls Captain Romilly over, “Captain, get the men together, we are leaving.” “All of us Sir?” Blackader looks at the Major, who shakes his head, “No Sir, just the Leicestershires, the Gurkha will have to wait.” Blackader turns to Romilly, who smiles through the chattering of his teeth, no words are required, he then turns back to the Major. “If you dont mind, we will wait, when you can relieve us all we will go, until then, we came together we stay together. Blackader holds up his watch so the Major can see, the watch face is swimming in water, just under where it says water resistant. By the way, whats the time? Mine appears to be broken.” .
Posted on: Sun, 21 Dec 2014 12:06:13 +0000
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