KAWARTHA LAKES-Richard Nevison grew up in Fenelon Falls, where his father was a harness maker. As a boy, he would long remember the celebrations when the siege of Ladysmith was lifted during the Second Boer War: “The school trustees declared a holiday and my father, who was one of them, rushed up to the school and planted a Union Jack in an upper window. At that time, of course, was towards the end of the long reign of Queen Victoria, there was no flag controversy. We were all proud of the Union Jack and the British heritage. Canadians who served in the war were looked on with pride and envy. I remember Trooper Malloy, who had been blinded serving in Africa. He travelled around the country in uniform with a man who acted as a guide, and accompanist at the piano while Trooper Malloy could have recruited a whole division in a short time. They called at our house and we enjoyed the entertainment which had a special appeal at the time.” Nevison also admired Charlie Babbot, another veteran of the war in South Africa that attended his church—the Second Old St. James, then located on top of the Church hill overlooking the village.
As a young adult, Richard took a job working at the local branch of the Bank of British North America (later merged into the Bank of Montreal). He was a bank employee when Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, beginning the July Crisis, which would soon lead to a general European War. When the news reached Fenelon Falls that a war had begun, it brought “great excitement.” Surely, the British Empire, France and Russia would quickly defeat the Central Powers. By 1915, the “seriousness of the First World War was gripping the Country. … I remember before I left Fenelon Falls, I was challenged by one of the ‘bloods,’ in this way—‘Kitchener is calling fir men, let’s toss up a coin’—… such a toss-up would be—heads we go—tails we don’t, which was hardly a suitable way of dealing with the matter.” Richard did not take up the challenge to decide whether or not to enlist with a coin toss. Then after working for five years at Fenelon Falls branch, he was transferred to Midland, then Montreal, where he worked at the St. Catherine’s Street Branch, beside McGill.
Richard was 23 years old, physically able and single—just the kind of young man that many people would expect to enlist. His manager at the Montreal branch enlisted in Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry. “Recruiting was in full blast in Montreal. Brass bands and bugle bands played up and down the street. Colonel, the Honourable Sir Sam Hughes, [Minister of Militia and Defence, also the Member of Parliament from Richard’s home riding] reviewed the troops at Fletcher’s Field one day and it was on the screen in the theatre the same night.”
Richard joined the McGill College Auxiliary Battery, “which amounted to nothing more than wearing a uniform of sorts and doing parade in the evenings. It may have served some usefulness in giving you the military feeling.” After being in the auxiliary, he gave the bank notice that he intended to enlist. Because he had enjoyed paddling around Cameron Lake, he thought he would “try to get into the motor boat patrol around the British Isles… but the officer in the recruiting station talked me out of it, saying that those in the patrol were mostly fishermen and other ‘men of the sea.’” When he went to the McGill College Battery Recruiting Station, there was no opening in the battery they were forming, so he joined the Canadian Field Artillery, “who were taking all comers who passed the medical tests, and should I say mental tests as well?” Many of the recruits were young men like Richard.
On July 12, 1916, when Richard enlisted, the British Army was fighting the Battle of the Somme. On the first day of this offensive, it suffered 57,000 casualties and by the time the operation was over, the Allies had lost approximately 600,000 soldiers. Reinforcements were urgently needed, and within a few days he was ordered to report to the University Avenue Armouries in Toronto—where he would be trained as a member of the 69th Battery CFA. Issued a uniform that include a bandolier to put over his shoulders, and heavy metal spurs for his “already heavy army boots,” on August 5, he was sent to Niagara-on-the-Lake for basic training. The soldiers there stayed in bell shaped tents, and completed route marches, field drill and manoeuvres.
On August 26, Richard was transferred to Petawawa Camp and would never forget the first words of his Sergeant when he arrived: “You’re in the Awmay [Army] Now!” At Petawawa he received the training specific to being a gunner. “We used the light artillery piece known as the 12 pounders for training purposes which, were I believe, the same as those used in the North West Rebellion. These guns were similar in principle to the 18 pounders [British Light Artillery Guns used during the Great War], but, of course, the mechanism was different. They sufficed however for training purposes and we fired them in our training activities at this camp, shooting safely into the hillside.”
As he was being trained, Richard learned how to be tough and resilient. “We would leave the gun park with the gun in reverse and hooked to the gun limber with two teams of horses hauling it and a driver mounted on one of the horses in each team. Sometimes there would be an ammunition wagon similarly drawn. The gunners rode on the gun limbers, which were of sheet iron and no softer than any other kind of iron to sit on. One of my fellow gunners and I conceived the idea of putting a pad under the seat of our pants, but this was discovered by an observant officer who ordered the pads to be summarily removed.” There was not much time for comfort in the armies of the Great War.
Richard would help keep the camp clean, stand for guard duty overnight, learn to shave in difficult conditions, shine buttons, and care for the horses: “We were to learn later that it was a case of horses and men. The dumb beasts had to be given priority attention, no matter how [badly] the men [were] fagged out and hungry. … At Petawawa, as in France, the horses were tied up in the open in two rows, head-to-head, and the men lived in the famous bell tents, with no floors. A rubber sheet and blanket was provided, plus any additional blankets that could be unofficially scrounged. The sand was as hard as boards to lie on but you can guess its disadvantages.” The soldiers could swim in the Ottawa River to clean themselves… even in October, when they were breaking ice off the horses’ watering trough in the morning.
The trainees would grumble about army life. One of his friends joked about wanting to tell the bugler that woke them each morning to jump in the lake. They would sing a camp song:
Oh Petawawa; Oh Petawawa; down where the Ottawa flows
We’ll never go there any more, any more
We’ll never go there any more, any more
We’ll never go there any more, any more
Down where Ottawa flows.
“But, with all, we were young, healthy and happy (the latter seldom admitted) and during all the time I was in the army, from enlistment to discharge, through the heat, the cold and wet, I never had a cold.”
When the time came to volunteer for overseas service, all the trainees answered the call. But their cook, Sergeant Major and Senior Sargeant would remain—Richard presumed to feed and train more recruits. The trainees decided that an unexpected late-night dip in the horses’ frosty watering trough would be “appropriate for these three.” He and one of his friends made “the rounds of the tents at the agreed hour and give the silent roll call. We turned out as arranged and let the tent down on the three (as we thought) flunkers. At this stage the word went around that the officers were coming and nearly all the men scuttled back to their tents, leaving just Richard and two of his friends to be caught.
In the morning the pranksters were ordered to fall out of the parade and each one was taken individually before the O.C. [Commanding Officer of the Battery] by a Corporal and two guards. “The Corporal: ‘Attention.’ To the guards: ‘Remove the Prisoner’s Cap.’ The O.C., looking very solemn and serious (although he had much heavier responsibilities than this one and must have had some difficulty keeping a straight face) opened a book on military law and read the passage covering the crime therefrom.” Their punishment was to be confined to their barracks for seven days. Instead of having to serve out his punishment, they were deployed within a couple of days and Richard’s friend from the orderly room (office) told him that the “‘crime’ sheets had been duly destroyed.” Richard would not forget the words that a senior officer had shared while he was on night guard duty: “I had taken on a man-sized job, which would really only commence when I got into the line in France.”
At Halifax, Richard’s unit boarded the Grampian with the 203rd Infantry Battalion from Winnipeg, also known as “The Little Black Devils.” They left with another ship, the Corsican, escorted by two cruisers. But when the soldiers woke up the following morning, they were alone for the Atlantic crossings. (During the First World War, a large proportion of U-Boat attacks occurred close to port on either side of the Atlantic.) The passage would be rough and stormy, as the “old tub” heaved with the waves.
Richard felt nauseous for much of the trip, but still there was work to be done. “I remember carrying cases of ale, for the officers it was said, from the bottom of the ship right at the propeller. This was one of the diving and climbing days for the ship and with the propeller out of the water at times we were really put to the test. I was numbered among those who were NOT present at the next meal.” When not working through his sea sickness, “I would lie flat on my back in the berth and ‘gnaw’ a dry crust of bread to stave off starvation!”
Though the ship was rolling and diving, there was occasionally time to share a song around the piano below deck. “I shall always remember the fine voice of one of the laddies on the ship’s crew, not more than 16-17 years of age, with a white kerchief around his neck, singing—‘the Sunshine of Your Smile.’” But the soldiers had to be conscious of the U-Boat threat: “No lights were of course allowed and no smoking at night, since in the pitch dark even the lighted end of a cigarette could spell disaster.”
As they neared Ireland, “two destroyers appeared on the scene and circled around us. The rough and choppy sea did not seem to trouble the destroyers as the speeded around us sometimes seemingly like submarines as the waves washed over their decks.” They arrived at Liverpool on November 6, then boarded a train for Shorncliffe Army Camp—where they would receive their final training before deployment.
“We were introduced to our sleeping quarters for the night, being the gun shed of Ross Barracks. The bunks, if deserving of the name, consisted of two cross boards supported on edge, head and foot, with lengthwise boards to a width of about 1 ½ feet on a solid cement floor with one blanket. I was cold all night but despite this I slept very well. We moved to Risboro Barracks the next day. Here our time was occupied in what might be described as being organized, paraded and sorted. Following this we were taken on route marches and were given some more advanced training on 18 pounders.” They also practiced with Lee Enfield rifles—the standard British infantry weapon of the Great War.
At Shorncliffe, one of their Canadian Sergeants was nicknamed “Wildgoose.” When he gave a command, he would follow the training manual, “but he always followed this with his own ‘goose call,’ such as Command: ‘Prepare to Mount.’ Then: ‘Away you go.’ And when delivering a lecture (suddenly to someone not giving rapt attention): ‘What are you standing there scratching yourself for?’” Such was the humour in the Army. After their work for the day was done, the soldiers played Crown and Anchor (a gambling game using three dice each showing crown, anchor, heart, diamond, club, spade), poker and Housie Housie (now called bingo). They had to get to bed early, because it would not be long until they heard “Rise an’ shine me lucky lads!”
When granted leave on December 16th, Richard took advantage of the opportunity to visit his relatives in Sunderland and South Shields. Returning to camp on December 22, the time had come to be deployed to France. After the Battle of the Somme, many units were under strength, so Richard’s unit would be split up to act as reinforcements. He was drafted into the 39th Battery, which was a unit from Lethbridge that was part of the 3rd Division. He sailed from Portsmouth on the Cannaught, arriving at La Havre on Christmas Eve: “A short sail but certainly not a merry one. A number of the men were sick and we were packed like sardines. You can therefore guess the natural consequences.”
“When we reached Le Havre and were lined up on the dock, we were suddenly plagued with a mob of urchins, dressed in a mixture of old army and civilian clothes and begging for a “Bisqueet” or any available handout.”
“Without much delay, we were marched the seven miles, up the flights and flights of steps, and on to the base camp. We were ordered to fall in and dismiss several times when we reached the base camp for what reason we did not know. We finally twigged the trend of things and started to play Santa Claus to ourselves by picking a tent where blankets were stored, instead of the one allotted to us where we would have been crowded in with others to a total of thirteen or more with feet to the centre. We bedded down in the tent of our choice with several pair of blankets for a mattress and as many as we wanted for covers. I fell to sleep at once (8 PM) and never moved a muscle until 8 o’clock Christmas morning. This was easily the best night’s sleep I had in France. We were given a Christmas dinner, including plum pudding from ‘Blighty’ shipped in time, and it was good.”
At the base camp, the new recruits would catch their first glimpse of soldiers that seemed to be returning from the front. “The men going towards the firing line for the first time did not seem to have any fear, which I think could be attributed to the fact that so many were doing the same thing and you had that feeling that you were no worse off than the other fellow.” They saw “a long double file of infantrymen with faces akin to the colour of their crumpled khaki uniforms. There were no barking Sergeant Majors nor red caps in sight, only a little Padre dog trotting along their ranks. They were a seemingly endless stream emerging from the camp huts. We did not know what it was all about but we assumed that those men had come out of the line, while we raw recruits were on our way in.”
At 6 PM on Christmas Day, the recruits marched to a train station at La Havre. “We were herded into the famous box cars, which… carried 40 hommes or 10 chevals—what difference between a man and a horse, except that one is bigger than the other. We had the full quota of 40 in the car that I was in. There was no proper room neither standing nor sitting, but you had the choice, and on the floor. It was a miserable trip.”
As Richard was joining the 39th Battery, it had recently been part of the Battle of the Somme. In time, he would realize that the battery might be moved to a sector where the British Army was planning an offensive operation, fire shells to help create the barrages, persisting until the line was stabilized, before being moved to another sector. After the Battle of the Somme, the unit was moved into reserve, and spent the winter living in a barn at Camblain L’Abbe, a few miles from the firing line.
In the barn they were on the ground floor, “being the ground itself. We salvaged a little straw which we covered with our ground sheet. We doubled up for very practical and obvious reasons. Gunner Sallans and I were a pair. We took great pains in bedding down with a blanket on the ground sheet, two blankets on top of us, most of our clothes on (bar tunic and boots) and additional covering consisted of great coats buttoned together, leather jerkins similarly placed and balaclavas on our heads. Here we had a fire in the centre of the barn, but the fire died down as we turned in for the night. The barn had a tile roof with several pieces missing through which openings we could see the stars and the moon.”
“There was no wood available for the fire in the centre of the barn, yet, somehow, with necessity pressing hard on us, we did have the fire going a bit night and morning. There was no upper floor in the barn and it was about 25 feet from the ground floor, already mentioned to the roof with the ventilators on it. You will now understand that the magic fire on the ground in the centre was more for the purpose of making us ‘better cheer’ than for heat. But there was more to it than that, because we found that we could buy Quaker rolled oats in local French stores all the way from Peterborough, Canada. And we had stolen or otherwise acquired a pot or pail which was hung over the fire by means of a wire from a cross beam in the barn. And since it would have been the height of extravagance to use a wooden stick to stir the porridge, the stock of a driver’s whip was used instead.”
“At Camblain L’Abbe, we were healthy, we had to be, when you would fall in at morning parade with your frozen boots on. … It was an unusually cold winter in France in that year of 1916-17. There was as much frost in the ground as we sometimes have in Canada, and in fact, more than the average in Canada since there was no blanket of snow in France.” Though it might have been cold in the barn, at least they were dry, unlike the men in the trenches or gun pits.
“Up to this time we were free of vermin, but one night something was tickling my face as well as my bed fellow’s, but as there was no bite accompanying the tickle we did not make any move since to get out of bed and back in again would have been a major operation in view of the performance in bedding down to keep warm already described. In the morning we discovered that a package of the rolled oats had been placed on the beam above our heads to be out of reach of mice, but the mice, like ourselves, had learned out of necessity how to overcome obstacles and got up there somehow to gnaw a hole in the package.”
On January 17, Richard was assigned to help build mortar pits at the firing line, where there were “a few bullets and shells flying around.” While working on the mortar pits, “I got a little astray one night in one of the trenches and was suddenly confronted by a sentry, a short little Englishman, who brought his bayoneted rifle down to the thrust position pointing menacingly at my stomach, at the same time challenging me with—“Who Aw you?” Suffice to say, I wasn’t too long in telling him who I was. Another evening, we passed stretcher bearers carrying their burden, which would end in one of the military cemeteries completed wrapped, head to foot, in a blanket. Gradually we were getting into the war.”
As a gunner, there was not much firing to be done that winter. Their gun pit had small stoves that they had made from oil drums. They made themselves coffee and even enjoyed biscuits, which they purchased from a canteen that was in the rear. They really appreciated receiving a parcel from their friends and relatives.
When he was working in the rear, Richard remembered visiting French families at Hurionville, and enjoyed sharing Pommes de Terre aux Oeufs—it was something families could make with what they had, as they dealt with shortages and rationing. Anything home cooked would be a treat for soldiers. The army rations were repetitive: “rolled oats porridge, bacon and bread for breakfast; Meat stew and hardtack at noon,” and bread, jam and cheese for dinner. For variety, they might have bully beef or Maconochie tinned stew (contained stewing meat or gristle, carrots, turnips, potatoes, onions and beans.) When the chance arose, he enjoyed staying with a French family, which cost ½ franc per day. The lady of the house gave him coffee and bread. For entertainment the men boxed and had soccer games. But, while visiting a French family, he was shocked to see that children worked in the mines. The father also worked in the mines, and would bring back a block of wood under his shirt, which was “used very sparingly in their little stove along with briquettes made from coal dust.”
On March 25, 1917 the battery moved to a new position in front of Mont St. Eloi—did they have any inkling that they were about to participate in the most famous battle in Canadian history? From the time they arrived “all available transportation facilities were used to bring up ammunition, and still more ammunition, for the guns. You have heard it said that the guns were hub to hub in front of Vimy Ridge and they had been placed in a single line, the description would not have been an exaggeration. Our 18 pounders were in front, being a low trajectory gun, and immediately behind us, with the board walk in between, were the 4.5 howitzers. Back of this there were of course, numerous pieces, including 9.2s, big naval guns and 12” howitzers. From our guns back to the big howitzers could have been as much as 2 miles. Some spasmodic firing took place in the days before the battle of April 9th, but not much. The infantry kept moving to the front along the board walk. One man was killed when a 4.5 howitzer shell from the battery behind us exploded right over the board walk
We had to pull in our belts here because rations were very slim. Even our bare requirements to survive on were cut to the minimum to make room for ammunition. Up to this time, we could usually scare up some hard tack biscuits but they for a time were unavailable. I well remember they did bring in some parcels. I received a sealer of honey sent from home, but there were no hard tack biscuits, neither any bread to eat with the honey. The parcels were brought up after our evening meal and then one slice of bread we had for that meal was putting up a valiant fight in the inner man to sustain us until we had a few more bites at breakfast. So we consumed the raw honey. It was a little strong, but had no ill effects.”
“At 5:30 AM –April the 9th, 1917—all hell broke loose. The whole front was a livid ball of fire. We were all keyed up for this event and every man put all he had into it. The artillery opened up as if the same hand had fired every gun. The time of ‘touch off’ was well synchronized. At the same moment as the tremendous explosion in the ridge causing a crater was blown with a great flash of light, all the guns opened fire. It seemed that we lost ourselves completely midst the din and roar in the almost inhuman effort and attention we put into firing that gun, dead in line, with the prescribed number of rounds per minute.”
We always had cotton batten in our ears when firing but the concussion blew it out and we were deaf, and by way of description, you might say ‘dumb’ to everything excepting our taking part in taking Vimy Ridge. Aside from loading and firing the gun, the only things I remember were seeing Captain Finlayson, our Paymaster, going from one gun pit to another with his steel helmet on and our Seargeant Major Patterson, standing in the open by the Signaler’s dugout giving, and ready to give, any orders that came through to the guns. Captain Finlayson did not need to be at the guns. I imagine he just couldn’t resist the temptation to be on the spot.
“The ridge had to be taken and after such gigantic preparations no army could have held it. The heavy losses in the past, chiefly by the French, were about to be avenged, and they were avenged with some to spare. We blew the Germans off Vimy Ridge. I still see that battle front along the top of the ridge. It was as if earth and sky were joined in one terrible fire. The firing was so intense that it was one ear-splitting roar. Not one gun nor set of guns was audible above the other. … I remember seeing the prisoners passing in their dirty gray uniforms. I cannot say they looked too unhappy, the war being over for them.”
On April 11, the 39th Battery moved their guns forward 600 yards, to a position by the Lens-Arras road. “Snow fell while we were taking up our new gun position and this added to our difficulties by creating a sticky mess of snow and clay mixed. Our ammunition was plastered with this mixture and the punishment we went through was as bad as being under shell fire. What with trying to set fuses with cold wet hands while our clothing was soaked and our teeth chattering. The snow, however, did not last long and conditions improved so that we were restored to some comfort when the sun came out and dried things up a little.” While they were there, they were infested by lice, and had their first experience of poison gas, delivered in gas shells. One of his friends joked that they should go over the top together “to make short work of as many of the enemy as possible for this dastardly trick of sending over gas. … It was such incidents as this that, despite our utter misery at times during the campaign, helped keep up our morale.” In these moments they were determined that “we must ‘go out to the end.’”
Bringing in Wounded Canadian Soldiers at Vimy Ridge, April 1917, Canadians with Captured Guns and Ammunition, Vimy Ridge
“We moved the guns forward again on the 17th, to Petit Vimy village, which proved to be a hot position. I was detailed to guard duty over the ammunition and five men only were sent to each gun.” Once they had moved to the other side of the ridge at Vimy, their Corporal (later promoted to Sergeant) Shorty Reid “distinguished himself as a wizard in leading the ammunition train of horses and mules on pitch black nights from the ammunition dump and return to the horse lines. This was over the top of the ridge, pitted with shell holes, old open trenches, and strewn with debris, with no landmarks left after all the destruction caused by the shell fire, bombs and mines. The reason for using this route was to get away from the roads which were under constant shell fire. Each mule or horse carried eight shells in a canvas container, with four pouches on either side of the saddle.” Shorty’s sidekick was Bones, a horse that he had nursed back to health from an emaciated condition. As they walked over the ridge in the black of night, “the things to look out for were passed by word of mouth from the front of the column to the rear, such as ‘Wire under foot’—’Trench, keep left.’”
Though Richard’s comrades in arms had driven the Germans off the ridge, enemy resistance was stiffening. “Fritzy whissbangs [light artillery shells, the German counterpart to the 18 pounders that Richard was firing] were showering on our position almost around the clock.” Day after day, Richard watched comrades fall. One night on the perilous trip over the ridge, they lost two horses to shelling. Each night, one man from each subsection stood guard while the others slept.
Richard’s Commanding Officer, Major Alexander Boswell Stafford was killed by a shell. “One of them hit one of our guns right on the muzzle and bent the barrel. That was the equivalent of a hole in one in a game of golf. Another went through the roof of one of our gun pits, which were supported with heavy gauge railroad rails. It grazed the first rail, bending it down, went right through the second one and bent the third one up. Then buried itself in the ground.” He learned that while at the firing line, a shell or bullet could hit at any time. “With the guns some 150 yards or more from the dugouts we needed no urging to put on plenty of speed when crossing this flat open ground.” He would never forget putting up a barrage as the 113th Battalion left on an “ill-fated raid. There were a number of SOS calls on that occasion.”
As he grew accustomed to performing his duty under fire, he realized that other soldiers lived even more perilous existences. Signallers had to cross open ground to repair telephone wires that were cut by shell fire, so that the communications between observation posts and the soldiers could be kept open at all times. “Likewise, the drivers bringing supplies to the guns over the road that went through Vimy and Neuval St. Vaast had a dangerous job. There was a crossroad in these villages that Fritz shelled constantly and the method the drivers used to pass this point was to wait for a slight lull in the shelling and then gallop through at top speed. There were no bomb proof jobs and, as if to make sure, Heimy would lob a few shells into the wagon lines occasionally.”
In mid-May, Richard took a turn on the wagon lines, helping move supplies to the front, which gave him the chance to have a bath, change his clothes and be free from lice. He even had a brief chance to “enjoy all the beautiful things of nature that war destroys.” While on the wagon lines, he saw aeroplanes doing stunts at the aerodrome near Mont St. Eloi. On May 24, he was given the day off, and walked to Arras, only to find that “practically every building has been hit by a shell.” On July 25, their work at Vimy was done, and his unit redeployed. Moving at night, they arrived at their new position at 9 PM, started building gun pits at 1 AM and were finished by day break. After registering the guns, with a range of 4625 yards, he “fell down in the gun pit and slept.”
At Hill 70, Richard was ordered to start a bombardment at 4:25 AM on August 15. That day, the infantry would advance 200 yards, but the Germans would make their first counterattack. By the 19th, he could record: “Has been 14 counterattacks. All fail. … According to what information we were able to gather, the operation was a success, in that our objectives were reached.” Before long, the German artillery was sending over their own shells, including gas attacks. “On one occasion, when ammunition was being brought in by pack horses and mules, a high explosive shell burst right under the mule with a man mounted on it, blowing them high in the air. That poor fellow would at least not suffer, his end coming so suddenly.”
While working in gun pits, gunners like Richard were “tormented with vermin.” Lice were hard to kill: “They survived boiling water, creosote and lousing your shirt by hand. This latter method of attack, or should we say counterattack, was to strip off your shirt when the sun was bright, get whatever seat you could find and settle down to cracking them with your thumb nail. This system was known in the common language of the day as “Lousing your shirt.” But there was always a few escaped to return to the attack when you put your shirt back on. Probably some eggs in a seam would hatch out within the hour. I cannot say. The only satisfactory way of elimination (for a while) was a change and a bath. But, of course, they were soon back again, depending on your luck of getting another change and a bath.”
After a brief stay in rest camp—which was not rest as the name might imply, but working with horses behind the front lines—Richard was redeployed to Passchendaele on October 17, 1917. He would describe it as a “mud bath” and “the blood bath. … Passchendaele was a trying experience and for mud it had no counterpart. It was a sea of mud with stubs of trees and “pill boxes” being all that survived. All else was beneath the mud. The only road was of plank the same as the board walk in front of Vimy. To reach the guns from the horse lines you went through Ypres, past the ruins of the Cloth Hall, where there was enough of the brick or cobblestone pavement remaining to provide a solid road. After that you continue the journey on the plank road, which extended out across the mud. There was a continuous stream of wheeled traffic and men on foot on this plank walk and casualties were heavy from enemy shell fire, since there was no cover of any kind.”
Being surrounded by mud, it “tended to keep down casualties from shell fire, for, as you can guess, shells very often buried themselves in the mud before exploding, whereas had it been hard ground the explosions would have occurred on the surface. There were, however, very sensitive fuses on some of the shells, resulting in explosions being above ground, and considerable of the shelling was shrapnel bursting overhead.”
“I well remember walking to the gun position over the plank road with other gunners. On either side there were several of our tanks that had been put out of action by enemy shell fire, but, while I cannot vouch for believing that some of them simply mired in mud, I should think this could have been the case. Dead mules and horses were strewn around and the walk was of course damaged in places, but kept in good enough condition to carry on the traffic, at cost of rather heavy human casualties. In one place the horse casualties provided temporary repairs with a team of horses filling the shell hole made by the shell that killed them, smack in the middle of the road. When you stepped on them, as you had to, it was like treading on a big rubber ball.”
At Passchendaele, Richard’s unit lived in a captured pillbox. “These concrete forts, probably 12 feet square, were, as already mentioned, constructed for enemy machine gun posts. They provided us with the only cover on our sector of the front.” The roof and walls were all concrete. There were openings to fire machine guns through, and an opening that was no bigger than necessary. Since the pillbox had been captured from the Germans, the opening was facing the wrong direction, but the Germans had left a mound of earth in front of it, that provided some protection.
Richard “learned that heavy casualties were suffered by the work battalions while repairing the road. A night and day job. One group of 17-20 of these men were all killed at the same time from shells.” A nearby battery had two of their guns destroyed by direct hits “within half an hour, and the crews of both either killed or wounded. Another battery had 60 casualties their first night in, necessitating practically 100% replacement.” Even with comrades falling around them, “every man’s time and attention was all taken up in firing the guns. It was as if you closed your eyes and went doggedly on.”
“Rations and water were brought in over the plank road. The water was in petrol (gasoline) tins. When these tins were empty of petrol they were burned out, a job at which you had to be careful because when you dropped a match in, there was a puff and flame. I singed my face nicely at this job by getting too close. Occasionally the burning in some way was missed and we got what was called gasoline tea. Ugh, I’m spitting yet. The cookhouse was in a pillbox and it was no easy job for the cook since he had to have a fire, but dare not make any smoke.”
“During a lull in the shelling one day, I ventured a few rods from our position and there, as if they merely slept, were several of our infantrymen and some New Zealanders, mute evidence of the supreme sacrifice. It must have been from machine gun fire since there was no sign of mutilation, which seemed almost even more of a shock to the senses. “At the going down of the sun” do we still remember them?”
“But the war must go on. The ridge must be taken. The line must be established. And we must then go to another sector to do it all over again. Yet, it was war, and there was no turning back. … Some must take on the responsibility and the majority must of necessity obey. In other words, there must be discipline, otherwise there would be nothing but chaos.” Richard could not help feeling: “Did we EVER ‘want to go home!” But they persevered through it all and on November 16, he wrote in his diary: “Took Passchendaele Ridge. Never to be forgotten.”
On November 22, Richard was relieved from the firing line, and would work in the rear for the rest of the year. Having served one year in France, he was granted leave in England, arriving in London at 8 pm on Christmas Eve. He attended a dinner put on by Lady Drummond at the Maple Leaf Club “It was an excellent dinner and everyone enjoyed it.” Then he went with his friends to the theatre: “Rather expensive for a $1.10 per day gunner.” Tours departed from the Maple Leaf Club giving him the chance to see many local attractions: Madam Tussauds, the British parliament, Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Trafalgar Square, the Strand, Picadilly Circus, the Bank of England, Buckingham Palace, Oxford Street, Birdcage Walk and Threadneedle Street. He went on his own to see his relatives again in Sunderland and South Shields, while also visiting Edinburgh and Newcastle-on-Tyne.”
After enjoying 20 days on leave, he was back in service in the wagon lines, helping to ensure the soldiers at the front had the supplies they needed. That winter was quiet, as both sides were preparing for the campaigns of 1918. In 1917, while the Canadian Army had fought doggedly at Vimy, Hill 70 and Passchendaele, making small gains, the Russian Empire collapsed. Then after the Bolshevik Revolution, Soviet Russia left the war, signing a peace treaty with Germany on March 3, 1918. Germany was able to transfer its armies from the east to France.
In late March, Germany attacked the British Third and Fifth Armies near the Somme, breaking through the British lines. “I well remember, we were on the left flank of the sector they broke through on, and on the flank was close enough, or too close if you will for comfort. I recall that Sergeant “Shorty” Reid rather surprised me at the time as he seemed more concerned and anxious than I had ever seen him before. Formerly his manner was an inspiration and showed no signs of any doubt as to the final outcome of the war, but this time he seemed to be really worried, if not a little discouraged.”
“We were ALL scared. In the army from our point of view, we had no heroes and no shame in being scared. It was senseless to be brave against something that you had no power to stop, such as shells and bullets, but, while we had no heroes, we despised a coward who would work some kind of a scheme to be out of it when the going was tough. I cannot remember an incident when we were in action, of any of the men harbouring the slightest notion of turning tail.” Though there had been a significant setback, and the Germans managed to advance within striking distance of Paris, “none of us had any real doubts, including the folks back home, of the final result, which was of course victory for the Allies. It was just a matter of how long it would take to bring about defeat of the enemy.”
On June 30th, Richard’s battery was sent to a new position that was back within sight of Mont St. Eloi. He could see the countryside where they had put up the barrage at Vimy in April 1917. “So, it seemed that we were bound to visit the Vimy area again and again.” In July, “a number of the men were stricken with the … Spanish Flu. I remember they were dropping out like flies with the sickness, but no deaths. … I escaped the epidemic, as did I believe, the majority”
During Richard’s first year in France, the Western Front had been a bloody stalemate. But in 1918, the armies were no longer so evenly matched. Initially Germany had an advantage with the transfer of units from the east. They threw their best units into an offensive hoping to knock France out of the war. Once their advance stalled, at the cost of nearly 700,000 casualties and the American Army started arriving in force, the balance tipped the other way. As tanks were becoming a practical weapon, tactics evolved. In 1918, the Western Front was “more in the way of a campaign, rather than burrowing in the earth like moles.”
On August 8, the Allies began what would later become known as the Hundred Days Offensive. Richard recorded: “Push starts. We are waiting for orders to move forward. Are not firing in the strafe [a heavy bombardment, as might accompany an attack]. Moving forward. Lots of prisoners coming down. Take up gun positions near German (formerly) front line. Pass through captured villages and lots of captured guns. Some big ones too. Sleep in open field. Have advanced about 3 miles.” The next day, his battery would advance again, as the tanks and cavalry captured a village: “Bunches of cavalry miles long and all kinds of tanks have been passing all day long.” They advanced again the next day.
In 1917, as the Canadians had been fighting their way up Vimy Ridge, Richard had been firing shells as hard as he could, as every available battery was called upon, then remained at the front for weeks on end. By 1918, they were being moved in and out of reserve during the advance. “I remember while we were in Ames we polished rings, chains and buckles on the harness, which we cussed about as we couldn’t see any sense to it and felt that instead of making things like buckles and rings shine so the enemy could see them, it would be more in the interest of winning the war to give these metal parts a coat of black enamel, or better still, have them made of rust proof dull finish material. Old customs die hard, but they do die… just as the red uniforms were discarded in favour of khaki.”
“There was an endless stream of troops and transports moving in on this Amiens front, including Americans, who seemed big and fresh looking. The whole thing was of story book patterns. Wide open country that had not been destroyed, and infantry, tanks, artillery and cavalry, all moving forward, seemingly just as planned, made the most impressive sight of this nature I had ever witnessed. I thought that if we must have a war, then let it be like this…. The sight of these beautiful cavalry horses with their good-looking mounts and the lances glittering in the sun, for it was early afternoon, and extended as far as the eye could see across the country, was really a magnificent sight, war or no war.”
It was becoming clear that things had changed. “Some of the field guns left behind by Fritzy had been pulled out of the gun pits and apparently fired at point blank range on our advancing infantry. But these actions must have been very brief. German dead were fairly numerous and it seemed that a hasty retreat had been made by some while others surrendered.” As Richard looked over what was left behind, he was struck by the bread that the Germans had to eat: “It was black and seemed awful stuff for human consumption. I thought of the good white bread we had and it seemed to me that the contrast told its own story. The end was not far off.”
On September 11, Major-General Louis Lipsett came to visit Richard’s unit. “There was no lining up, in fact no orders of any kind, just the news that the General over the whole 3rd Division had dropped in to have a chat. We were at the stables (horses and mules tethered in two lines) at the time so we crowded around the General at one end of the lines to receive his message. It seemed evident that he must have informed our officers of just how he wanted to talk to the men, and that was his way. He was a smallish man, good looking and of florid complexion, and if my memory serves me rightly, had a nicely modulated voice, and of course with these qualifications could not help but have a pleasing personality. So much for the General, who being a General, did as he liked at times. But the saying that “the good die young’ proved to be the sad case here for this popular General.” On October 14, General Lipsett was crawling along a bank with his staff officers as he was planning an assault at Saulzoir, when he was spotted by a German machine gunner.
While his battery was advancing, Richard noticed that his hand was swelling, and when he showed it to his medical officer, was informed that “this was the first sign of blood poisoning.” [Septicemia: A bacterial infection where bacteria from another part of the body enter the bloodstream and spread.] He was away from his unit for 27 days—18 in hospital and the remainder making the journey there and back to the front. While he had been away, his battery had continued to advance. “I remember how glad I was to get back to the battery and indulge in the family conflab we had together. But the loss of 8 killed and several wounded was certainly bad news. I had known some of them very intimately.”
“You really learn something about true comradeship when you are all on the same level and indulging in a risky game. You are all like a bunch of kids. I shall never forget how happy I was to be with the men again. Now in the comforts of civilian life, you do not seem to have the same natural joy of association. Possibly this is the only good thing about war.”
On October 9, the 39th Battery started a barrage at 1:30 AM, which lasted until 4 am, when they were out of range of the enemy. Between 7 and 8 am they moved forward to the outskirts of Cambrai, “Part of the way was on the gallop.” That day, Richard recorded: “Canadians took Cambrai this morning. Moved forward again through part of Cambrai.”
“The taking of Cambrai was fast and furious, through shell holes, the ruins of buildings, broken equipment on the ground and in the dark of the morning with the air full of smoke, not to mention shrapnel and splinters from high explosive shells, plus the concussion from the latter. The pace had to be slowed some to prevent confusion, and strange to say, we had very few casualties.”
In the days that followed, the Allies continued to drive the Germans back. Then on October 19, Richard was hungry, having nothing to eat as rations were delayed in the transport lines. He was waiting in a dugout, when his experience in the war came to an abrupt end. “There was a good growth of grass where we were and we had nothing to do but to wait and loaf, and as my diary records, “Waiting for something to eat”—We had been on one move… to keep up the enemy, but during these few hours we could do nothing but sit and wait.”
“The horses had been turned loose and were feasting on the grass. Driver Greer of Kamloops, B.C. and I had retired to our ‘dugout’ which was a wide, shallow, anti-tank trench covered with German sheet iron and a bit of earth. You could scarcely sit up on it. We had a map and I always liked pouring over maps. I was leaning on my left elbow and holding my pipe in my mouth in my right hand. The sheet iron was held up with planks laid across the trench and I was right under the spot where the plank suddenly snapped when a big horse took a notion to try the pasture on the opposite side of the trench.”
“Bang went my face to the ground, and my left arm went right down into the ground, at least that is what if felt like, and so far, no pain. My face was saved because of the position of my hand in holding the pipe. It was in the clinch position, palm downward, with my forehead resting on it. Well, I started to yap for help. Then I said to myself “Shutup”; at this moment some more pressure came from above, and Greer, who had escaped the squash, not having been at the spot where the plank broke, yelled, ‘Get off there, there’s a man in here.’ When I got out, I discovered who he yelled at. It was a big innocent looking chap who had just been drafted into the battery.”
“They got me out and my arm, instead of being pushed into the ground, had decided to break halfway between the elbow and the shoulder. A simple facture. Did someone remark—What a blighty that would have been a year ago. One of our Lieutenants Forsythe, gave my arm a wiggle and pronounced it broken.”
Richard was escorted by Gunner James Irwin on the first leg of his journey, arriving at a casualty clearing station on October 20. “The scene in this clearing station, housed in a big marquee tent, was certainly a war scene. The tent was filled to capacity with stretcher cases of the dirt floor (ground) and the nurses and attendants were working like Trojans. The mud having invaded the tent and I remember one nurse with rubber boots on, same as worn by men. She was probably under 5 feet in height and I should think under 100 pounds, but she was the life and spirit and the boss in the part of the tent I was in, if not the whole place. She was a terror to work and no nonsense. There was a war on up front and these wounded men were coming so fast that there was no time for anything but work, work and work. I was soon slipped into an ambulance, and from there to a ‘shelf,’ I’ll call it, on a Red Cross train. It was at this time that I had some pain from my arm.”
Richard arrived at Stourbridge Hospital on October 25. “My orders were to stay in bed. It was obvious that this was in the interests of keeping things under control. I never submitted to it, however, as I was able to walk miles if I had to. In the interests of common sense, they said nothing to me, but of course I was very canny and gave no trouble for fear they might put the big Sergeant to guard me in bed.” He was later given a pass to visit the town, then his discharge ticket at 10 AM on November 11.
“When we reached the station the news of the armistice had just been received and already fog signals were on the track, whistles were blowing and everybody went crazy. Discipline was thrown to the winds, and you could have robbed the Bank of England without any fear of the law. I’ll bet the old OC back at the hospital closed up shop and joined the crowds.”
“Birmingham, I believe is only 10-12 miles from Stourbridge, and when our train pulled in the whole city was decorated with buntings and flags, and commuter trains filled with factory hands, mostly women and girls, were joined in song like a number of Welsh choirs.”
At London: “When we entered the tube station, officers were dancing with old women and everything was in a whirl. When we reached the street, the scene we looked on was beyond description. What we had to say about the great crowds of people in London when we were on leave was only a babble as compared to this. It was the greatest traffic jam of all time, and the jammers were pedestrians, everyone, no bus nor anything on wheels could move a foot. We were soon swallowed up in the mass that moved slowly down the Strand. There was no chance of going anywhere. You were wedged in so tight in that sea of humans that you went where they were going, which was nowhere. I don’t know how we got out of the thickest of it, but I remember in Trafalgar Square, they were perched everywhere, unless at the top of Nelson’s column, but that is about the only place they did not get.”
“The war was over…. It was over for everybody, from the most humble to the highest. The good news was for every heart. In this, at least, there was equality.”
Richard was sent to Epsom Convalescent Camp (Canadian Convalescent Hospital), and from there he had the freedom to go to town in the evening. He enjoyed seeing movies “Charlie Chaplin was at his height them.” He met a Sergeant Major that had worked with him at the bank back in Fenelon Falls. As the Peace Treaties were being negotiated to end “the War to End All Wars” he crossed the Atlantic on the Cedric, arriving at Halifax in March 1919: “No U-Boats to worry about and with the shores of Canada and home only days away.”
When he arrived at the train station in Fenelon Falls, “a few of the old reliables nabbed me and read the address of ‘welcome home.’” All Richard could think about was wanting to get home to see his family on Francis Street. His mother welcomed him with a roast chicken dinner and “washed my blanket and clothes and I was sitting on the world. A far cry from the days in France. The blanket became quite a souvenir or keepsake.” Village residents expressed their gratitude by hosting a dinner in the basement of the United Church. “They made a good job of it and all the returned men really enjoyed the event.” He looked out over Cameron Lake and it seemed to be calling “let us go.”
“We were looked on as a restless lot and I was no exception. I was anxious to go west into the new and wide open country which had always been my heart’s desire.” He filed for a quarter section of land 6 miles from Donnelly, near Peace River, Alberta—but he never did become a pioneer farmer. Instead, he took a job as a fire ranger in the Kenora District. After all of the death and destruction that he had witnessed in France, Richard wanted to spend some time in nature. That winter, he worked as a clerk in a shanty for the Keewatin Lumber Company. After labouring at the Abitibi Pulp Mill in Iroquois Falls and the Coniagas Silver Mine in Cobalt he applied for a job with the Sterling Bank of Canada (later amalgamated into the Bank of Commerce – CIBC). He didn’t want to ask the Bank of Montreal for reinstatement “after having left to pursue outdoors pursuits.” Though he settled down into a professional career, he still loved nature.
When Richard had arrived in France as a 24 year old greenhorn gunner, he had a lot to learn about warfare. As he was feverishly firing shells to support the advance at Vimy Ridge, the experience became very real, but there was no time to reflect over the din of artillery. “When I look back, I often wonder how I came through that summer, let alone the 22 months in France, with nothing more than a broken arm, and that from a horse, just before the armistice was signed.” Many of his comrades were not so fortunate. But through it all, they retained his conviction to “go on to the end.” Somebody had to step forward and Richard was one of the millions of soldiers who answered the call. He was one of the few who recorded an experience in detail for posterity.
Lest We Forget.
This story is a memory and nobody’s memory is perfect. Sometimes details get a little mixed up, things get forgotten or overlooked, and the perspective is inevitably subjective. If you notice something that not right, have something you would like to tell us, or a memory to share the museum would be happy to hear from you: [email protected]
This story is part of our partnership with Maryboro Lodge, The Fenelon Falls Museum and was written by Glenn Walker.
If you want to make a donation to the museum, you can e-transfer to: [email protected] or mail a cheque to :
Maryboro Lodge Museum
Box 179
50 Oak Street
Fenelon Falls, ON
K0M 1N0
All photos courtesy Maryboro Lodge Museum
