On 8th August 1917 Fr Willie Doyle recorded a diary type entry he referred to as a budget, to be sent in due course to his father back in County Dublin: “The battalion went out today for three days’ rest, but I remained behind. Father Browne has gone back to the Irish Guards. He is a tremendous loss not only to myself generally, but to the whole Brigade, where he did magnificent work and made the best of friends, and so I was left alone. Another chaplain was appointed, but for reasons best known to himself, he did not take over his battalion and let them go into the fight alone. There was nothing else for it but to remain on and do his work, and glad I was I did so, for many a man went down that night, the majority of whom I was able to assist.”19 Instead of the three days rest Willie refers to, the 8th Dubs only benefitted from one day back behind the lines at Vlamertinghe. At 6pm on Thursday 9th August they set off once more to relieve the 9th Dubs, following heavy losses by their colleagues. The men of the 9th Dubs, who Fr Doyle had remained with, were at a more advanced position on the Black Line. They had been subject to an intense enemy bombardment and suffered severe casualties, especially in their “C” Company; from which the Officer Commanding, plus two other Second Lieutenants, were killed, and: “2/Lt. J. McGrath was the only officer left in C Coy and did valuable work in keeping the coy together under most distressing circumstances.”20 Willie continues the narrative of his continued spell in the front line with the 9th Royal Dublin Fusiliers: “Word reached me about Midnight that a party of men had been caught by shell-fire nearly a mile away. I dashed off in the darkness, this time hugging my helmet, as the Boche was firing gas-shells. A moment’s pause to absolve a couple of dying men and then I reached the group of smashed and bleeding bodies, most of them still breathing. The first thing I saw almost unnerved me, a young soldier lying on his back, his hands and face a mass of blue phosphorous flame, smoking horribly in the darkness. He was the first victim I had seen of the new gas which the Germans are using, a fresh horror in this awful war. The poor lad recognised me as I anointed him on a little spot of unburnt flesh, not a little nervously, as the place was reeking with gas, gave him a drink which he begged for so earnestly and then hastened to the others.” 21 The new gas Willie refers to was mustard gas, as described in the 6th Connaught Rangers’ War Diary: “During the night (3rd August) shelling was again heavy and the battalion had its first experience of the new mustard gas employed by the enemy, the shells being cleverly mixed with whizz-bangs.”22 Willie was less enamoured with the ingenuity of the delivery of the gas, as he continues: “Back again to the Aid Post for stretchers to help to carry in the wounded, while all the time the shells are coming down like hail. Good God! How can any human being live in this? As I hurry back I hear that two men have been hit twenty yards away. I am with them in a moment, splashing through mud and water, a quick Absolution, the last Rites of the Church, and a flash from a gun shows me that the poor boy in my arms is my own servant, or rather one who took the place of my orderly while he was away. His name is Corporal Threfall a wonderfully good and pious lad who had an aunt in New Hall convent where Frank’s sister is (could you please send me the correct address as I should like to write to her.)” By the time we reach the first party all were dead, most of them with charred hands and faces. One man with a pulverised leg was still living. I saw him off to hospital, made as comfortable as could be, but could not help thinking of the torture as the stretcher jolted over the rough road ground, up and down the shell-holes. Little rest that night for the Boche simply pelted us with gas-shells of every description, which thanks to our new helmets did no harm. Fritz is an expert in gas torture. He has long treated us to weeping shells and many an unrepentant tear have I shed; now he has some stuff which tickles your throat and nose like pepper, making you sneeze like a soda water bottle; a gas which burns your hands and face and a beast of a thing which gives you all the delights of a rough sea voyage; hence you can have quite a lively time if you wish to.”23 Having relieved, without incident, the battered battalion of 9th RDF, the company dispositions of 8th RDF now found “C” on the right, “D” on the left, “B” in right support and “A” in left support. Battalion Headquarters was at Frezenberg Redoubt. Captain Cowley was the only officer left at detail camp with about sixty men. Captain Staniforth of 7th Leinsters describes the Frezenberg Redoubt around about this time, thus: “It was the German brigade-head-quarters, and consisted of an underground concrete fortress on the highest point in the neighbourhood, just beside the cross-roads that marks the site of FREZENBERG VILLAGE – now more utterly destroyed even than Guillemont and Ginchy. Inside were five compartments; living rooms, sleeping rooms, servants and orderlies’ quarters, etc. In all it had about the accommodation of a large-sized flat.”24 Willie continues, bringing a lighter tone to his narrative: “There is little to record during the next couple of days, except the discovery of a new cathedral and the happiness of daily Mass. This time I was not quite so well off, as I could not kneel upright and my feet were in the water, which helped to keep the fires of devotion from growing too warm. Having carefully removed an ancient German leg I managed to rest by sitting on the ground, a new rubric I had to introduce also at the Communion, otherwise I could not have emptied the Chalice. I feel that when I get home again I shall be absolutely miserable because everything will be so clean and dry and comfortable. Perhaps some kind friend will pour a bucket or two of water over my head occasionally to keep me in good spirits.”25 The 8th RDF had set off from Vlamertinghe at 6pm on 9th August and remained in the front line until 3am on Sunday 12th August, when they were relieved by 1st Royal Munster Fusiliers. Prior to that, contrary to their being little to record, Willie had more work to do in the most dangerous zone, as he describes: “When night fell I made my way up to a part of the line which could not be approached in daylight to bury an officer and some men. A couple of grimy unwashed figures emerged from the bowels of the earth to help me, but first knelt down and asked for Absolution. Then leisurely set to work to fill in the grave. ‘Hurry up boys’, I said, ‘I don’t want to have to bury you as well’, for the spot was a hot one. They both stopped working much to my disgust, for I was just longing to get away. ‘Be gobs, Father’, replied one, ‘I haven’t the divil a bit of fear in me now after the holy Absolution.’ ‘Nor I’, chimed in the other, ‘I am as happy as a king.’ The poor Padre, who had been keeping his eye on a row of ‘crumps’ which were coming unpleasantly near, felt anything but happy; however, there was nothing for it but to stick it out as the men were in a pious mood and he escaped at last, grateful he was not asked to say the rosary. August 10th A sad morning as casualties were heavy and many men came in dreadfully wounded.”26
Posted on: Sun, 11 Aug 2013 21:18:59 +0000
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