THE COMING OF SPRING

By Bob French

Second Lieutenant Edward Cunningham of the second battalion, the Royal Cumberland Fusiliers called his men around him, pulled out a map he had found in a partially damaged tourist shop in the main square of Ypres and began spreading it out.

          “Listen up.  Well done lads for getting here without any casualties or pushing off on a personal looting spree, but we still have a job to do before the rest of the battalion gets here. He knelt on one knee and spread out the map, then looked up. “John Thorpe, come round here, and using this tourist map, create the area around this town which is called Ypres, and out towards the east so the rest of the lads can understand what the lay of the land ahead of us looks like where we need to go.”

          As John Thorpe, a 40-year-old ex farmer, poacher and an excellent shot could start to create the map of the ground ahead of the platoon, he needed the tools to create the land by using twigs, stones and sand or soil that Thorpe would use to create his master piece.  Whilst he studied the map, the rest of the men went about picking up the bits and pieces for John.  Whilst this was going on, Cunningham looked up.

          “Prof, sort out the sentries. Patric, see what you can scrounge in the way of food and Jonesy, try and acquire some beer.  No spirits understand.”

          Once Thorpe had constructed a perfect diagram of the land around Ypres and out to the east using the soil, twigs and rocks to create a three dimension of the area, Second Lieutenant Cunningham explained using the created map what they were going to do.  Once he had finished, he and the rest of the platoon destroyed Thorpe’s master piece.

          This method of survival had become second nature for the men of the 13^th Platoon, the labour platoon of the battalion. To everyone else in the battalion they were the scum, the dregs.  No one wanted them in their rifle company for the exercise, so when the Labour Platoon form their own unit, then won the competition, the hatred increase. This had caused a real upset within the battalion. It wasn’t until the Second in Command approached the Commanding Officer and explained the consequences of awarding the trophy to the labour platoon.  After some discussion he decided that this year the trophy would not be awarded, but instead, He’d award the distinction of granting the labour platoon a formal position on the battalion Order Of Battle.  On Monday, on Daily Routine Orders it was declared that with immediate effect, the labour platoon were to be known as the 13^th Platoon, of the Royal Cumberland Fusiliers.

          When Second Lieutenant Cunningham, who had drawn the short straw and was given the job of commanding the labour platoon during the exercise, attempted to raise his concerns about fairness, his company commander discretely took him aside and explained that whilst he had done a good job, he should leave the matter there.  If he continued to make a fuss, he would end up commanding this new platoon of misfits.

          Within the first ten days of taking over the 13^th Platoon, Henry Cunningham had realized that the men of the 13^th were here, because they didn’t follow orders, disrespected senior NCOs and officers’ and really didn’t care about the battalion.  As far as they were concerned, the battalion had turned their back on them. Henry realised that if he was to command these men, then he had to make some changes.  The first thing he did was to get the men to wear the proper uniform of the fusiliers, then, when a task came down from the Adjutant, he would sit down with them and explain the job.  He then left it to them to sort out the best way to do it and, by whom, then crack on and get it done.  This proved to be the best way for everyone. And from those early days, they had survived by sticking to this tried and tested procedure.

          After outwitting the German 1^st Army and leading the charge that pushed the Germans’ back from the River Marne then on to the town of Aisne, the commanding officer decided to appoint the 13^th Platoon as the recce platoon. It was at this point the war underwent a complete change.  Instead of being a war of movement, it became a war of attrition, a battle of artillery and trench warfare, and regardless of how brilliant a soldier or officer was, if a shell had your name on it, then that was it.

          As the battalion caught up with the 13^th Platoon, who were now employed as the recce platoon, working ahead of the main body, The battalion operations officer told Second Lieutenant Cunningham to move forward to Zonnebeck and dig in.

          As the platoon moved out at dawn towards Zonnebeck some of the men were in high spirits.

          “At last spring has arrived.  Early morning light, birdsong, dry ground fresh drinking water, decent bogs and regular rations, hay Patric?”

          After the men added their ten penny-worth Old John Thorpe raised his hand. “Sorry lads, but I got some real bad news for you. The change in nature, especially for the likes of us, wondering around a field which has a high-water table, is no joke.”

          Second Lieutenant Cunningham respected what John Thorp had to say.  He had lived rough for years before he was found and lured back into the Army. As  the men muttered amongst themselves, he nodded to Frank Gregson, who had been a damn good sergeant, until his platoon commander, broke down in front of his men whilst being outflanked by the Germans and accused Gregson of cowardice.  The Commanding Officer had to do something, so he reduced him to Lance Corporal and sent the young second Lieutenant back to UK for leave. Gregson acknowledge the nod, then shouted;

          “Enemy to the right!  Number 1 section cover 3 Section, Jonesy, get that machine gun over to the left and take out their retreat.”  Cuningham stood still and observed his command and felt proud that if they ever came face to face with a much larger formation of Germans’ they would make mincemeat out of them.

          After he had blown his whistle, and complimented his men he pointed to small hillock. ”We are going to set up shop on the top of the hillock and extent our trench lines either side of it.  Alright lads, talk it through and ask Corporal Gregson for any advice. Now, let’s get a shift on.”

          Les McAllistair turned to Jonesy. “Did ya manage ta get some tins un string like?”

          “What for, the booby-traps?”

          “Ay, they’re in the sack over there.  Do you want ta give me a hand then?”

          As the two of them stood and started to leave the group, Gregson turned to the three youngsters. “You follow these two and watch how they set up a warning system with tins and stones, hanging from a piece of string.”

          Once they had dug their trenches and fitted their fire step and dug the bogs, they settled down to the food and drink provided by Paddy and Jonesy. Who had gone ‘walk about’ in Ypres.  As they sat there in silence, one of the younger men turned to John Thorpe.  “Hey John, what did you mean when you said that the beginning of spring is a terrible time?”

          John Thorpe filled his pipe and thought for a minute.

          “In early spring, the winds around these parts tend to come from way up north so they’re blooming cold and once you get wet, your body sometimes can’t cope.  Now, if you’ve had a good look around, you will see that the closest trees or cover is at least three hundred yards, so we have no cover to rely on and no warmth to speak of.

          The ground is hard as a rock, but come spring, it starts to soften and the dew caused by the change of temperature helps to turn the grass and the soil into a sticky mud.  This makes it bloody hard to keep your feet dry. Next our support, once the battalion gets settled in to Ypres, we will start to get our rations, water or mail but it is going to take twice as long for them to navigate the land and if its too difficult, they won’t come.  Don’t forget, they know who we are.  We ain’t the most popular people in the battalion. When it rains, and it does a heck of a lot this time of the year, it will rain, and when I mean it rains the rain and the cold will quickly get into your bones.  

          As the temperature slowly rises, so the mosquitos and all the other insects that live off the water, see us as a free meal, especially ants, and of course once the rainy season sets in, that’s normally March and April, you get dragon flies and rats. The rats don’t hibernate during the winter, they sleep and live off their food hoards. If you take a deep breath right now, you will smell fresh grass, and a faint pong of maybe manure or the person standing next to you.  Once the rats realise that their winter stocks of food have been exhausted, they will eat anything else that is out there.  That’s dead bodies, or live ones if they are desperate.

          Now Ypres is very close to the Sea, so surrounding areas have a high-water level and when it rains, the bloody rain has nowhere to go, so within an hour, your trench is knee deep in ice cold water. On top of all the things I have just mentioned, rain can be totally debilitating. It saps your energy, interrupts your sleep, destroys any comforts you may have managed to rig, and lastly it affects your morale, so much so, that there will be times you will want to kill yourself. Then there is how we live. To keep clean will be a mammoth task, if you don’t, you can catch at least eight diseases, three of these can, and will kill you, so bloody well keep yourselves clean. Now on to the bogs, to those of you who do not know what the bogs are, in the Army they are toilet huts. If you mess up or put any of us in danger, then guess who will be digging the bogs for a week. Now this is important.  When you do go, remember to keep low because enemy snipers know that any person wanting to go to the bogs, has only one thing on his mind. And of course, once you have relieved yourself, you will feel a different man and will have nothing on your mind except total relief.  And you all know, the saying. No one ever hears the bullet that hits you, so stay very low, got it?  Now you are wondering why we have two bogs. Any one know?  No one spoke.

          Lance Corporal Gregson raised his hand and spoke without being invited.

          “Simple really. If the wind blows from the right of our trench, we all need to use the bogs on the left and if the wind blows from the left, we all have to use the bogs to the right..”

          “Ah, but what happens if the wind is coming directly towards us eh?”

          “Then everyone should be alerted to the use of gas by the Germans, so we always have our gas mask on, and before you ask, if the wind is coming from behind us, we simply desert the front trench and move to the back wall of our trench.”

          “Thanks John. Is there anything else that you want us to know?”

          No one spoke, then Second Lieutenant Cunningham stood up.  All right I have written up the sentries’ rosters. Lance Corporals’ Kent, Hampton and Gregson please report to me once you have finished your meal.”  He then turned to the rest of the men of the 13^th Platoon.  “Listen up all of you.  During the retreat from Mons and the couple of battles on the way up from the south, we had the battalion and the brigade supporting us.  Now we are by ourselves. One of the reasons we seemed to have come off lightly was because it was the Saxon brigade we were up against.  Any one know anything about the Saxons?”

          Allan Clifford raised his hand. “Sir, the Saxons, down the centuries are the closest European relative to us, here in England.  It would be like shooting our own people, hence the easy ride we had.”

          “Spot on Prof. Well done.  Now remember when you are on sentry duty.  We have erected a simple warning system which is facing our east.  If you hear the tins rattle, that means someone has walked into our trap.  I do not want to be told that you think someone is coming, just work out where you think the sound came from and put a magazines worth into who ever it is. Corporal Gregson and his raiding party will rush out towards the suspected enemy, so try not to shoot them please.”

Copyright Bob French