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Gosford Times and Wyong District Advocate (NSW : 1906 - 1954), Thursday 13 September 1917, page 12
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INTERESTING LETTER FROM THE WAR.
A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION.
Private W. V. Coady, of the 13th Battalion, formerly schoolteacher at Petersham, writes to his friend, Mr Will Martin, the following interesting letter, and Mr. Martin has kindly handed it to us for publication : — Dear old Bill, — I can't place the date of my last letter to you, but I will try to make recompense for any previous neglect. This is being pencilled in bed in a big military Hospital in London, for Fritz has given me a couple of honorable wounds to wear. You may not have known of my luck before. I joined up with the Battalion in France before Xmas (and reverted as all N C.O's do to the rank of Private) We eventually quartered at Mametz Wood till the middle of January, where we were in the centre of an area that had been the scene of some terrible fighting, and presented an appearance of desolation that no words can make even faintly intelligible. We were engaged in fatigue works of a necessary character, but WORK in the Army is of the easiest kind by reason of the small quantity a man is expected to do. It's only good exercise. We are only 6 miles from the enemy line, and it was no uncommon thing to get a big shell lobbed into the camp. Very seldom any real harm resulted. In the middle of January we moved up the line into real business, into the trenches, and right under shell fire, though we had not yet got into the front line. We had to cross a wide open plain, in broad daylight, in full view of Fritz, and consequently our friend the enemy peppered us all the way. No casualties ! From that moment Death stood at our elbow by day and by night and took his toll with unfailing regularity, and almost every man had his miraculous escapes. We were not fighting, but doing 'fatigues' — tunnelling, ration and water carrying, keeping the men in the front lines supplied with muni tions, &c, and much of this done under continuous shell fire. Nobody seemed to care a rap. For myself I never was so free of anything like nerves in my life, and I had several of the narrowest squeaks possible. No. 1., when walking along one day the nose cap of a big shell just grazed my back and buried itself in the ground alongside. No. 2, a big piece of shell tore the ground up at my toes and smothered me in dust. No. 3, a shrapnel bullet dinged my steel helmet. Other chaps have also had extraordi nary escapes, so that when you hear a returned man telling 'the impos sible,' put implicit trust in him, for even if he is telling fibs — and if he has been in the fighting zone he won't need to employ fiction — none of his tales can be so wonderful as the real thing. Don't class him as a descend ant of Ananias and Sapphira ; that is, if those worthies left any orphans at the time of their lamented demise to carry on the family name and — traditions. Every day brought its entertain ment — with life and death for the climax — in the shape of aerial fights. At any and all hours of the day these occurred. Imagine the fascination that seized us as we watched these furious combats, to see frequently a sudden swerve, a tumble, and then down, nose foremost at lightning speed, a huge machine smashing to the ground. Sometimes friend, sometimes foe. One day a shell hit one of our ' birds,'' cut off one wing, and jumped the airman out. Poor fellow turned a somersault and came down head first to a fearful death. His machine came down slowly after him. How would you feel if you saw it ? Sick ? Some chaps were Shocked ? Most would be. Myself ? Didn't turn a hair, looked on these events with a sort of cool curiosity, a feeling that from start to finish possessed me to the exclusion of every other emotion, even fear. We were located then opposite Bapaume, the most important strong hold of the Germans on the Western (British) Front. The distance away of this town was about 4 or 5 miles
with a couple of villages between. On a clear day we could see the town. A high ridge to our left was held by Fritz and was strongly en trenched. From there he dominated our positions and blocked any advance on Bapaume. We lay between Flers Wood and Gueudecourt Wood at the time. Several times Australian troops had been 'sooled ' on to that trench and met disaster. Then our Brigade was ordered up, the 4th. On Friday night of January 26th, the Brigadier ordered the 15th Battalion to take it. They did, but at 4 o'clock next morning the Ger mans counter-attacked and chopped our poor fellows to pieces. Of course
they, the enemy, regained the precious trench, and the prize was as far off as ever. Now, there has grown up a custom of reserving the 13th Battalion for desperate ventures, and the said Battalion appreciates the honor. It doesn't salute its officers, or anyone else's officers, unless it feels so inclined. It scorns fatigue works, and carries them out in a very haphazard sort of way. There are various other peculiar ities that have come to be tolerated as characteristics of this fighting unit, because, as one typical Australian put it, "We'll be there when the whips are cracking.' And so, and so — it came about that we (I am awfully proud of that ' We ') were curtly in formed that we would be turned loose on the coveted trench, and we had not only to take it but to stick there. The old hands looked thoroughly bored, the new ones made very commendable efforts to do like wise, and preparations went on apace. We moved up to Pilgrim's Way a couple of days beforehand, relieving some tired troops, and spent 48 hours there, accumulating a vast stock of bombs and other war material needful. This was trans ferred by night into the jumping off (front) trench, ready for use, and so and so. Sunday night of 4th Feb ruary came at last, and we silently filed into our places fully equipped with 250 rounds of cartridges, as many bombs as our pockets would carry, rifle and bayonet, 48 hours' rations, and either a pick or shovel. A man must needs be 'fit '' to carry that, fight and endure. And the time crept on, ever so slow, and in deadly silence, for Fritz knew as well as we what was coming, and he was waiting, too, only he didn't know the exact moment. The crackle of a machine gun sounded startingly dis tinct, and an occasional shell whining by broke the suspense. 3 minutes to 10 p.m. was the hour. 9 o'clock came, 9.30 passed, 9 45 and the order " stand to ' whispered along the line. 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 7 minutes to go. Did you ever sit and wait ! Sit still, sit in silence, and wait — for death? No, you haven't ; do it in imagination. Myself again ! An absolute forgetfulness of self, only an intense calm and a cool curiosity in the ' passing show ' that made it possible for me to analyse and note every bit and phase of my surround-ings and occurrences. On my left, a few men down the line, a fellow half Chinese looking, and the cur of the platoon, was chattering incessantly and couldn't be stopped. His eyes, big and bulgy, rolled horribly. It was a brilliant moonlight night, and one could see the working of the men's features plainly. At my left elbow, a mature man, a cynic and a humorist, was very drunk. He always professed a terror of the front line, but was known to be one of the best fighters in the company. He was humming a foolish and indecent song about ' Madamoiselle from Armentieres. " They gathered his remains up next day and gave them decent burial. On my right I suddenly heard a gasping ' Oh Gord.' It came from a little Corporal, a miserable little wretch nicknamed ' Skinny,' a pro duct of a Redfern slum. He knows all that is appalling in the way of vice, and yet I respected him immensely as everybody did. Game as a pebble, he has been through Gallipoli, and all the Australian French campaign, and those who know him are ready to follow where he leads. And yet, poor kiddie, (he's not yet 21), the sus-
pense was telling on him, as he told me before it always did at such times. Now his head was resting on his rifle and he was struggling with big dry sobs in his throat. 7 minutes to go! They have gone, and the command ' Ready ' is scarcely spoken when Judgment Day descends on our little world, and four thousand British and Australian guns land as many shells on to the narrow strip of ground ' No Man's Land'' — that lies between our trench and Fritz's. They lob 50 yards in front of us and form what is called a barrage or curtain of fire. 4000 guns! Can you get that astounding fact into your mind? They have scattered over a great area of ground, from ½ to 15 miles away, and comprise all sizes and all kinds of weapons, and yet they concentrate on a 500 yard front and land their shells on an almost straight line; and every suc ceeding shot is lifted a few yards farther on creating a creeping barrage. With the first burst came our officer's command, ' Over!' Every man rose swiftly and bounced over the top. There was no confusion, no hurry. We moved quickly, walking only, towards our objective, which was 150 yards distant. We had covered 50 yards when the German batteries opened fire and poured in a stream of shells, shrapnel, bombs (sixty pounds), whizzbangs, &c., in almost equal proportion to ours. "Hell let loose '' is a term used to describe the resultant uproar. If so, Hell is indeed a very terrible thing. That any living thing as big as a mouse should move across that bit of ground and live is a miracle as wonderful as that of the 'Loaves and Fishes ' All along the line there rose and fell hundreds of brilliant flares that lit up the already brilliant night, some crimson, some green, some white. Here and there a man went down as we advanced. In minutes we had reached the German trench, and plunged down to a hand to hand fight. Certain of us, I among them, were deputed to search the dug outs, and any prisoners captured to be taken back to headquarters. So I roared me gently down a handy dug
out, adding a threat to throw a bomb. Presently there was a scuffle, and up came four Germans, hands aloft, and crying ' Mercy Kamerad.' A mate of mine had captured three, so we put the seven together and hopped out over the top to go back again. Up on top we were once more in the hail of destruction, for Fritz never ceased for a moment to pour in shells and shrapnels. Half way across we plunged into a vast shell hole waiting for a cessation of the fire. After a spell we dashed out again and across to our own trench. A jump down, and safe? Not by any means, for the enemy were pounding the trench to pieces. It was crowded with the 14th Bat talion, who had come up to support us; and with dead, dying, and wounded. I saw a boy I knew, sitting on the bottom of the trench, and leaning against the wall as if asleep. I stooped down and looked at him — he was dead, of shock. Fur ther on a chap was lying full stretch with a shattered knee. He said quietly, ' Don't kick me on the shin, cobber.' I moved him close to the wall to save his poor leg. Just then a shell burst over me and a piece buried itself in my shoulder. I felt the blow and the sudden gush of blood, but there was no pain, and the only feeling I had was one of surprise that I should be hit. Moving slowly down the crowded trench, we came to an obstruction caused by a chap who had had his arm broken. He was roaring mad and had lost his nerve. He wouldn't let anyone touch him. After a long delay, in which a big crowd of prisoners, wounded on stretchers, and wounded walking, had gathered behind, a couple of stretcher bearers got him down and held him whilst we literally crawled over him and them. I believe they had even-tually to out him with a punch in the stomach before they could get him away. Moving on we were blocked again by a heap of dead and wounded where a shell had caught them in a bunch. While waiting for the stretcher bearers to sort out some bad
cases, a shell burst on the parapet and I caught a lump on the right upper arm, felt the blow and the rush of blood, no pain, was rather annoyed at it. At last we got to the end of the sap and open ground lay before us, open ground that was alive with shells and machine gun bullets. How ever, neck or nothing, and out we went, as hard as we could race 300-yds and we were in the compara tive shelter of a high chalk cliff, but we passed scores of dead and helplessly wounded as we ran. Two of our prisoners were wounded, the other five we made pick up a couple of wounded and carry them into safety. Reaching headquarters we searched our prisoners for papers and handed them over. Then I went to the dressing station, had my wounds dressed and was despatched to Rouen. 48 hours later I reached hospital there with septic wounds and a temperature. Was operated on for removal of shrapnel, and had one bad night when it was touch and go. Blood poisoning in the arm and a violent fever nearly did the trick. Recoveriog a bit I was despatched to Blighty (a new name for England), got along splendidly but left arm very useless. The Major (Dr.) had it X rayed and discovered a big piece of shrapnel in it, he operated on the shoulder and extracted the piece. Unfortunately blood poisoning set in and for a week it was doubtful whether I would keep my arm. Thank God, the constant care of the Sister-in-charge saved the situation and I am now pulling round slowly. For some days my temperature was always in the neighborhood of 104 deg. to 105 deg. You can't tell how delightful it was to get into clean white beds again, and to get a wash. Do you know that for at least ten days I had not had a wash, and for quite three weeks no shave. Can you picture that ? Why ? There was no water, it was too cold. After the cold we endured in France, nothing can ever matter. In mid-day the temperature was many degrees below freezing point, at night it was often below zero. It was a world of snow, ice, and frost. It was with difficulty that the cooks were kept supplied with sufficient water for cooking.
Every night a party was given cans and sent nearly three miles to a well in Flers to get water. We filled our cans with water and landed back with ice. We didn't always bring back ice either, for Fritz could see us and knew the range of the well to a nicety. He used to torment us there and back with shrapnel and shells, and some times we carried a wounded comrade home, and once or twice there was no need to carry him ; he had no further need of anything in this world except decent burial which would be given him a few hours later. And So and So ! Where does it tend to The many good pals that lie low. It turns the heart sick now to think of them, for there is nothing on God's earth like the Australian soldier, for all that makes for manliness and chivalry and all that is good and noble. I am proud to be one of him, and even at that I feel like going down on my knees and thanking God for their comradeship. They have swept England off its feet, and France also. He is the envy and admiration of the British Tommy, and he sounds the praises of
Australia everlastingly in that party's ears till the said Tommy has definitely made up his mind to seek this dazzling new Land of Promise as soon as he is freed. Well, Bill, I am tired of writing, and no doubt you are of reading ; so, as we both are agreed, I shall finish. — Yours affectionately, WILL V. COADY. P.S.— The 13th kept that trench, and from there it is that we have spread so far into the German lines and captured so many villages. Bravo Australia, and the 13th particularly !