Letters From the Front

Dated: April 15, 1917

The lads who went over did splendidly, and the little stories we hear about them are really quite worth repeating. I shall take the chance of boring you by telling you a couple at least:

One chap named Terence-an Irishman, of course-approached a dug-out in which he heard voices and invited the occupants to come out, accompanying the invitation with a Mills bomb which was not replied to quickly; so he dropped down a 10-lb. charge of high explosive with the cryptic remark : 'All right, you can damn well stay there.' Terry, the above-mentioned, was cook for his company, but got special permission to go on the raid. After it was all over, the raiders were sent back for a rest and Terry intimated his intention of going back to cook dinner for the boys. It was only with difficulty that he was persuaded not to do so.

In one of the parties was a big chap who was noted as a bad actor; in fact he had only a few days ago completed ninety days' Field Punishment No. 1 for some transgression, but this had not killed his fighting spirit. The Hun started throwing his stick-handled bombs and this beggar saw that they took some little time to go off, so he commenced throwing them back. Rather disconcerting for the Hun to throw bombs and have them thrown back to explode in his own trenches. He got the D.C.M.

After this little show comparative quiet reigned, but we could see that preparations were being made for something on a much larger scale regarding which we were more or less in the dark. Gradually the place assumed something of the appearance of the rear areas of the Somme, guns and ammunition in abundance, until our orders came through and we knew just what the scheme was to be and what part we were to play. The papers have described very effectively how the men jumped up at 5.30 a.m., and then they have gone on to tell us about the glorious victory and all that sort of thing, but they cannot convey one iota of the tense condition of waiting for news after the battle had started.

In the depths of our dug-out we could see nothing, and apart from the fact that they were off and we must await the result, we could do little. You can imagine the feeling; not only was the honour of the regiment at stake, but so many of our fellow-officers had gone forward that the first bit of news was eagerly waited for. Gradually wounded men began to drift back and then an occasional officer, and each was interrogated as much as his condition would permit. So on during the first and second days, ups and downs, bright hopes and bitter disappointments, until there came a clear, bright sunny afternoon whose brightness was as symbolical as the past few days of snow and rain-when sometimes we had doubted-for on that day we found that our victory was complete, that the Hun had gone and that on the roll of deeds of the Canadians there had been written a victory greater they say than any other since the war began. It is some satisfaction to know that those lads who had gone out never to return had not made the sacrifice in vain.

Had I time I could tell you a hundred and one glorious deeds that marked those few days, deeds which have occurred doubtless everywhere, but which showed that man for man the Hun cannot beat us.

There is a story of a slip of a lad, one of a machine-gun team, who found himself alone with his gun and one drum of ammunition. He took up a post in a shell-hole, went out and collected enough ammunition around to keep his gun going and alone, for eighteen hours he formed a `one-man' strong point. That takes grit.

The final scene to this play was when the relief came in. The cartoon in Punch fully describes it: One chap sitting on a ruin is approached by another, who says:

'By Jove! This must be my village.'

'Sorry, old toff, but it is mine. I just took it an hour ago.'

You will possibly have heard that Quinton and McCarthy were both transferred to this battalion with drafts of officers we received. Quinton is battalion bombing officer and - well, poor McCarthy went over in the battle and we have so far been unable to get any definite information about him. A rumour has gone around that he was wounded, but we cannot find which dressing station he passed through.

One remark Quinton read yesterday in a letter he was censoring will give you some idea of the weather we have been experiencing. The remark was: 'If this weather keeps on, we can soon bring up the navy.'