The Hazel Riley Project
My 21st March 1918 Grandfather's war diaries (C)
I come off sentry at 4 a.m. and go down the valley into the dug out. Just falling off to sleep at 4.30 when an intense bombardment by shells of every calibre commences. A large number of gas shells come over with the others and the gas gets very thick and hangs in the valley. Masks are put on at once. Shells are bursting over every yard of the ground systematically, and it soon becomes evident that the bombardment has been well mapped out.
5 a.m. Order passed round for everyone to stand to the guns. We have an awful time trying to get through to the higher ground on which our guns are situated as the shells are raining over. Also, there is a very dense fog which is intensified by the white gas. We reach the guns after groping about for some time. The corporal from my gun is missing, and also our number four. Andy and I take the gun and we never see the other members of our team except H. Whittington who has come up with us from the dug-out. The shelling grows worse. Several pieces of shell penetrate the corrugated iron roof over our heads.
6 a.m. No reply is made by our own artillery who never fire a shell in return. Our gun is hit through the barrel casing by a splinter of shell. The water is pouring out. Andy and I patch the hole up with plasticene but have to remove our gas masks for a short time to do so. Our eyes are running and throats burning with the effects of the gas. We try a burst or two on the gun and find it still fires. The fog is so bad that we can hardly see six yards in front of the gun. We learn that Shore has been killed on the next gun on our right. Shortly afterwards our gun is hit again very badly, and is rendered useless.
8.30 a.m. Fog as bad as ever. Order passed along “all clear.” Lt Harding comes along and tells us to stand down and try to get some breakfast as we have had nothing to eat since 4p.m. yesterday, leaving one sentry in each gun position. It is Andy’s turn on sentry so H. Whittington and I try to get back to the dug-out, promising to relieve him as soon as we have had breakfast. Bombardment so bad that we have a hot time before we eventually reach the dug-out. We get inside and are just preparing to get something to eat when the order is passed down “Jerry over!” “Stand to with revolvers and rifles loaded.” Load up and on getting through the dug-out door find myself confronted by 6 Germans each covering me with 2 revolvers. They call on us to “Kammerad” and the spokesman of their party points out in English that we are completely surrounded as the Germans have broken through on both flanks unseen in the fog. The mist is lifting somewhat now and we can see that the artillery has already been captured immediately behind us. We are forced to surrender so we lay down our arms. Soon we learn that most of our company have been killed or wounded in the dug-outs themselves. The next dug-out but one on our left the Germans had crept round and mounted a machine gun in the doorway itself, killing or wounding all within.
Our guards marched us on towards their own line but as yet they have not captured our front line, but intend doing so on their road back with us, as the line is completely cut off from any hope of aid and is held by a very few infantry belonging to the Manchesters. We get about 300 yards when a German machine gun is turned on us and we have to drop flat on the ground __ a few being hit however. Out guards blow whistles, and when the gun ceases, go forward and explain that we are prisoners. We are allowed to go forward again. On approaching our own front line we are heavily fired on by the 2/5 Manchesters who have just got wind of the fact that “Jerry” is over on every side, and in the slight fog which still prevails, imagine we are all Germans. After it is made clear to the Manchesters that their position is hopeless, which is very apparent as they are outnumbered by at least 10 to 1 already and fresh enemy troops coming up, they surrender. However, there is some fighting in odd parts of the line before they are finally disarmed and lined up as prisoners too. A number of the Germans are told off to take us over to their own lines while the rest go on with the push. We go on some little way with these guards and soon discover that we have the advantage now in numbers but that we are unarmed. Nevertheless we decide to make a dash for it __ one of the Manchesters declaring that he knows a track back which we stand a chance of cutting away through, especially as there are plenty of rifles to be obtained if we look round for them. The word is passed round and we take to our heels. The guards fire at us but not many are hit as it is still pretty misty. Moreover, they are burdened with full packs and we are carrying nothing which makes it difficult for them to pursue us.
We do not get very far, however, when we run into a full battalion of German Machine Gunners. Probably our late guards knew we could not get far as we never see them again. We expect to be wiped out by our new captors as they must know we are escaped prisoners, but no, we are handed over to the Prussians who march us back to their lines.
Here we are made to work pulling their minnewerphers out of the gun-pits in readiness to push on with the advance. Our heavy artillery, who are now awake to the fact that the Germans have captured some kilometres of our line, put up a heavy bombardment and we have a hot time working under our own artillery fire. Several of the German gunners are badly hit and some killed, but very few of our lads are injured. This makes the attitude of the Germans very ugly
towards us and were it not that we helped to carry their wounded into the dug-outs and dress them, it is probable we may have lost our lives here. Our overcoats, leather jerkins, etc., are taken by the Germans. We have to work here all the afternoon under a very heavy fire from our own guns.
4p.m. We are marched to Bellicourt and from there on to Estrees where we go into a cage. Everyone is very hungry and many of the Germans come round outside the barbed wire and offer pieces of bread in exchange for watches or other valuables. At 9p.m. __ a slice of black bread is given each man and a few pails of water put into the cage. We have to stay the night in the open cage. It is bitter cold and the grass soaking wet, and though we are worn out it is almost impossible to sleep without overcoats or anything. Some of the lads are still in possession of theirs, however. No attempt is made to dress the wounded amongst us and we have to do the best we can ourselves for them. I meet Andy again.
I come off sentry at 4 a.m. and go down the valley into the dug out. Just falling off to sleep at 4.30 when an intense bombardment by shells of every calibre commences. A large number of gas shells come over with the others and the gas gets very thick and hangs in the valley. Masks are put on at once. Shells are bursting over every yard of the ground systematically, and it soon becomes evident that the bombardment has been well mapped out.
5 a.m. Order passed round for everyone to stand to the guns. We have an awful time trying to get through to the higher ground on which our guns are situated as the shells are raining over. Also, there is a very dense fog which is intensified by the white gas. We reach the guns after groping about for some time. The corporal from my gun is missing, and also our number four. Andy and I take the gun and we never see the other members of our team except H. Whittington who has come up with us from the dug-out. The shelling grows worse. Several pieces of shell penetrate the corrugated iron roof over our heads.
6 a.m. No reply is made by our own artillery who never fire a shell in return. Our gun is hit through the barrel casing by a splinter of shell. The water is pouring out. Andy and I patch the hole up with plasticene but have to remove our gas masks for a short time to do so. Our eyes are running and throats burning with the effects of the gas. We try a burst or two on the gun and find it still fires. The fog is so bad that we can hardly see six yards in front of the gun. We learn that Shore has been killed on the next gun on our right. Shortly afterwards our gun is hit again very badly, and is rendered useless.
8.30 a.m. Fog as bad as ever. Order passed along “all clear.” Lt Harding comes along and tells us to stand down and try to get some breakfast as we have had nothing to eat since 4p.m. yesterday, leaving one sentry in each gun position. It is Andy’s turn on sentry so H. Whittington and I try to get back to the dug-out, promising to relieve him as soon as we have had breakfast. Bombardment so bad that we have a hot time before we eventually reach the dug-out. We get inside and are just preparing to get something to eat when the order is passed down “Jerry over!” “Stand to with revolvers and rifles loaded.” Load up and on getting through the dug-out door find myself confronted by 6 Germans each covering me with 2 revolvers. They call on us to “Kammerad” and the spokesman of their party points out in English that we are completely surrounded as the Germans have broken through on both flanks unseen in the fog. The mist is lifting somewhat now and we can see that the artillery has already been captured immediately behind us. We are forced to surrender so we lay down our arms. Soon we learn that most of our company have been killed or wounded in the dug-outs themselves. The next dug-out but one on our left the Germans had crept round and mounted a machine gun in the doorway itself, killing or wounding all within.
Our guards marched us on towards their own line but as yet they have not captured our front line, but intend doing so on their road back with us, as the line is completely cut off from any hope of aid and is held by a very few infantry belonging to the Manchesters. We get about 300 yards when a German machine gun is turned on us and we have to drop flat on the ground __ a few being hit however. Out guards blow whistles, and when the gun ceases, go forward and explain that we are prisoners. We are allowed to go forward again. On approaching our own front line we are heavily fired on by the 2/5 Manchesters who have just got wind of the fact that “Jerry” is over on every side, and in the slight fog which still prevails, imagine we are all Germans. After it is made clear to the Manchesters that their position is hopeless, which is very apparent as they are outnumbered by at least 10 to 1 already and fresh enemy troops coming up, they surrender. However, there is some fighting in odd parts of the line before they are finally disarmed and lined up as prisoners too. A number of the Germans are told off to take us over to their own lines while the rest go on with the push. We go on some little way with these guards and soon discover that we have the advantage now in numbers but that we are unarmed. Nevertheless we decide to make a dash for it __ one of the Manchesters declaring that he knows a track back which we stand a chance of cutting away through, especially as there are plenty of rifles to be obtained if we look round for them. The word is passed round and we take to our heels. The guards fire at us but not many are hit as it is still pretty misty. Moreover, they are burdened with full packs and we are carrying nothing which makes it difficult for them to pursue us.
We do not get very far, however, when we run into a full battalion of German Machine Gunners. Probably our late guards knew we could not get far as we never see them again. We expect to be wiped out by our new captors as they must know we are escaped prisoners, but no, we are handed over to the Prussians who march us back to their lines.
Here we are made to work pulling their minnewerphers out of the gun-pits in readiness to push on with the advance. Our heavy artillery, who are now awake to the fact that the Germans have captured some kilometres of our line, put up a heavy bombardment and we have a hot time working under our own artillery fire. Several of the German gunners are badly hit and some killed, but very few of our lads are injured. This makes the attitude of the Germans very ugly
towards us and were it not that we helped to carry their wounded into the dug-outs and dress them, it is probable we may have lost our lives here. Our overcoats, leather jerkins, etc., are taken by the Germans. We have to work here all the afternoon under a very heavy fire from our own guns.
4p.m. We are marched to Bellicourt and from there on to Estrees where we go into a cage. Everyone is very hungry and many of the Germans come round outside the barbed wire and offer pieces of bread in exchange for watches or other valuables. At 9p.m. __ a slice of black bread is given each man and a few pails of water put into the cage. We have to stay the night in the open cage. It is bitter cold and the grass soaking wet, and though we are worn out it is almost impossible to sleep without overcoats or anything. Some of the lads are still in possession of theirs, however. No attempt is made to dress the wounded amongst us and we have to do the best we can ourselves for them. I meet Andy again.
My Grandfather’s War Diaries (C)
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My memories of my grandfather, Robert William Seymour, are of a gentle man who read me poetry and loved gardening. He lived in Gateshead all his life, apart from a traumatic fifteen months in 1917-1918, when he became Private RW Seymour, 114308, in the newly created Machine Gun Corps.
Born on 14 February 1894, his life was touched by tragedy from its beginnings. His father died of a heart attack before he was even born, and his mother had to support the family single handed. She had a shop on Saltwell Road and was proud of her achievements. He didn’t volunteer at the beginning of the war, but was conscripted in 1917. He arrived in Bologne on October 9, in pouring rain. His war diaries record that they had to sleep in tents which were flooded out. On October 2 he was given 150 rounds of ammunition and made to set out on a five kilometre march to Etaps station, at 3am, carrying a full pack. Although his regiment set off for the front line, they had a few days respite as the high number of casualties at Ypres meant they had to wait for reinforcements. By November 10 he was ‘wading through mud and water up the Menin road….. Jerry starts to shell. Men and mules drowned in the shell holes.’ On November 18 he describes how their guide got lost at Devil’s Elbow. A Lieut. Jones ‘brings him to his senses by putting a revolver to his head and telling him he will blow his brains out if he doesn’t go on.’ My grandfather’s war diaries lived in a corner of the book case brought from my grandmother’s house after her death. It had glass doors, and was much smaller than modern bookcases. My grandparents didn’t own many books, but they were regarded as precious. There were gilt edged volumes of poetry, a bible, encyclopaedia, a Black’s Illustrated dictionary and books of household advice. Perhaps his war diaries always lived here. There are two small notebooks, written in perfect prose, with immaculate handwriting. They are army issue, but couldn’t have been written in the field. Any papers were taken from him when he became a P.O.W. They were probably written in Switzerland, where he spent the final months of the war. Such traumatic experiences must have been seared in his soul, just as his body never fully recovered from exposure to mustard gas. He records what he sees in an objective way, without commentating on its absurdity, futility and horror, yet everything is conveyed with such immediacy that they are painful to read. I hope that recording the details of each day helped my grandfather to cope with the horror and confusion of this devastating war. According to Britannica.com, some 8,500,000 soldiers died as a result of wounds or disease. Estimates of the number of both military and civilian casualties vary; some are as high as 17,000,000. A monument at Verdun commemorates the ‘50,000 unlocated dead who are assumed to be buried in the vicinity’[i]. |
After Christmas, he was sent to the Somme. The diary entries become longer. He describes a day of heavy bombardment, March 21, in fog so dense they can barely see, when ‘a large number of gas shells come over with the others and the gas gets very thick and hangs in the air.’ After a horrendous night manning a gun, which they try to repair with plasticene after it gets hit, they return to the dug out for a much needed breakfast only to hear ‘Jerry over’ and find they are completely surrounded. They are taken prisoner by Germans, and shot at by both British infantry and a German machine gun. The British prisoners try to escape, aided by the fog and the fact they have nothing to carry, but soon run into a full battalion of German machine gunners, who hand them over to the Prussians.
Life as a prisoner of war was even worse than the trenches. The ‘Jerrys’ took or stole anything of value, including overcoats and jackets. They were given very little food, forced to sleep out in the open or in derelict stables full of old manure, rats and lice. There are petty cruelties as well as the major ones. He writes …’we have not had a wash for 15 days. The water is given us but at night the German Officer stops our soup for it, so we get nothing to eat for 24 hours. ‘ He’s marched back to the front line, where his job is to collect and bury the dead. His descriptions are the stuff of nightmares. Some of the bodies had been blown to pieces. ‘Several times we come across odd legs, hands, etc, and have to hunt around for the rest of the bodies.’ Other bodies were reduced to skeletons, having been eaten by rats. A brief stint as a butcher is equally horrendous. He has to drag the corpses of horses that have been dead for weeks back to camp, then proves incapable of skinning them. On June 28 1918 he contracted blood poisoning in his right hand. By July 2 this had spread up the whole right arm and shoulder. He receives treatment from a Prussian Corporal of the German Medical Corps ‘who cuts open the place in the armpit with a pair of scissors and applies some liquid to draw off the poison…. The rough treatment causes agony.’ His condition worsens and he is sent to Avesnes Hospital, where he’s treated by a captured English doctor, a captain in the R.A.M.C. There was no chloroform to spare for prisoners. ‘The shrieks in the operating room are so bad that I dread going in as I have to do every morning.’ When his arm began to heal he was transported to Germany, a 74 hour journey on trains. (Aug 2) Here he’s put into a camp which is so infested with ‘vermin of every description’ that they ‘take turns at sleeping on the long trestle tables’ and often spend the night parading up and down the small prison yard, trying to keep warm. Although his arm has healed he becomes seriously ill and is put in isolation. He’s sent to a hospital where there is only one other Englishman. At the foot of his bed is a small blackboard with the diagnosis of Pneumonia, Bronchitis and Catarrh chalked on. Surviving on barley water he seems to be recovering when he contracts Pleurisy. (Sept 1) Ironically, this may have saved his life as he’s shifted to a ward with more English and Australians. Two men share some of their food parcels. After further medical examinations it’s recognised that he’s ‘ill enough to merit exchange with Switzerland.’ (Sept 11) He’s transported to Mannheim, where conditions are better, but it’s not until October 19, at 11pm, that he finally boards the train for Switzerland. The train stops in Zurich and Berne. At each station they are greeted by ‘English ladies and gentlemen’, offering ‘fags, chocolates, flowers, English papers etc.’ Arriving in Berne at 2am, they are given a grand reception, with supper, speeches by a general and the British Consul. Small silk flags are handed out, along with a printed message from the king. He sees out the final weeks of war in the Hotel Belvedere in Interlaken. Here he shares a big room with two other men. After months of deprivation, they have comfortable beds and arm chairs, plus a beautiful view of the mountains. He volunteers as a ‘sick waiter’ carrying trays of food to those too ill or injured to get to the dining room. Freedom of movement is restricted due to the epidemic of Spanish flu. But he survives this too and finally leaves Interlaken on December 4, 1918, arriving back at Blighty, Waterloo Station at 5pm on December 7. His final entry ‘Dec 10 Leave London at midnight for home.’ The diaries are even more precious as he never spoke of the war. In later life he entered competitions, composing humorous ‘couplets’ and often winning. Prizes were £1 for first , 10 shillings for second and 5 shillings for third. During WW2 he got a job in printing, eventually becoming sub editor of the Cooperative News. I’m glad the diaries, along with the printed message and a letter from the king, two medals and the little silk flags are now going to the Tyne & Wear archive. [i] https://www.britannica.com/event/World-War-I/Killed-wounded-and-missing |
