Blood and Thunder (37 page)

The Suffolks went off at 3.35 a.m. and the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, despite all that they had thus far endured, ten minutes later. The Welsh were hit hard and because they were unable to co-operate with each other, the attack folded and they had to be withdrawn. They fell back to where the baffled Essex battalion was situated with a contingent of Berkshire men and dug in, changing tack from offensive to defensive.

Reports coming back to the brigade from wounded men and prisoners initially had seemed to indicate that everything was going well. Nothing else came back though and worry began to seep in. Patrols were sent out but could not make any contact with the two companies that had gone out. It was feared that the men of the 76th Brigade had been wiped out entirely.

Billy had been on the move all day trying to establish just what was actually going on. Standing on a road leading to Longueval from the west, he was attempting to get the 2nd Suffolks to secure their position. He had just about decided that he had gathered all the information that he could and was looking to the higher ground in front when from inside the cornfield he was observing a German sniper fired a single bullet. It struck just below the breastbone and 25-year-old Billy Congreve was dead soon after he hit the ground.

His father was still attempting to command the battle. Word reached a member of his staff early in the afternoon via telephone. Events at Delville Wood had reached a critical juncture and Walter was about to send his men forward again in ‘a very important and very daring operation'. General Congreve had to be informed, but his keeping his head was absolutely essential for XIII Corps. A staff officer entered the room and gently informed the general that his eldest son had fallen.

‘He was absolutely calm to all outward appearance, and after a few seconds of silence said quite calmly, “He was a good soldier.” That is all he allowed to appear; and he continued dealing with everything as it came along in the same imperturbable and quietly decisive way as usual.' But the member of his staff was not at all fooled. ‘You know perhaps better than I,' he wrote to a friend, ‘what the loss of that son meant to him.'

Cameron was utterly heartbroken but fiercely determined to go up under fire and bring Billy's body back. As he was carried to safety the men of the Gordon Highlanders were following with wild poppies and cornflowers to lay upon him. Eight of their officers carried him into Carnoy and he lay there overnight with Cameron keeping unceasing vigil beside him. In accordance with Walter Congreve's wishes two of Haldane's aides, his chauffeur and his servant, the latter who was ‘devoted' to Billy, took him to Corbie where he was laid to rest.

Billy had excelled himself on the Somme. In the build up to the attack he had personally reconnoitred the enemy and taken out patrols over 1,000 yards in front of the British lines. He also escorted one of the brigade's battalions to their jumping-off point to make sure they got it right and then remained in the line of fire to get an accurate assessment of how the fighting had played out. For his example he was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross and at 25 became the first infantry officer in the Great War to be awarded all three gallantry medals available to him
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Old Etonians were still marching south to be thrown into the carnage as July progressed on the Somme. ‘The Three Generations' were a group of gentlemen well known in Dumfries. Resident at Spottes Hall, the eldest; the bearded kindly grandfather, Alexander Young-Herries, was 89 years old when war commenced and a widower of some forty years. His son, William, was a Cambridge man who had devoted many years to the militia and then the territorial battalion of the King's Own Scottish Borderers. William had married in 1891 but mourned his young wife almost immediately in 1892 as she died after giving birth to their son, the third of the generations, Alexander Dobree, or ‘Alick', Young-Herries. ‘Scarcely may his father have borne it' had it not been for the little bundle that she left behind.

Alick's temperament was not darkened by this early tragedy. He was a ‘bright and happy little creature' not only doted on by his father and his grandfather but by his beloved Nana, who would wheel him about Edinburgh in his perambulator. As a child Alick's days were regimented by prayers and reading at Spottes. Conversation on religion was encouraged greatly in his pious household and resulted in a passion for scripture. His faith would carry him through his experiences at the front. ‘His trust in Jesus Christ never wavered, even amid the darkness and the horror of the war.' Alick was educated at home until he was eleven under his father's supervision and with as much flexibility as possible ‘to ensure that the acquisition of knowledge became a pleasure rather than a chore'. In addition to lessons he would study insects, birds and shells with his father or retreat to the shed with his grandfather for woodwork or to develop photographs.

After a stint at prep school Alick arrived at Eton in 1906 and eventually, after the unfortunate demise of his housemaster, ended up with Mr Conybeare. He claimed that this confident, hardworking, helpful young man never gave him a moment's trouble. Never a classicist, Alick specialised eventually in science and excelled, not surprisingly, in divinity.

At Eton Alick forged a friendship that would last throughout school, university and then into the abyss of the Great War. Francis Ellicott was the grandson of a bishop and they were ‘thrown together' from the first at school. They studied together, sang together in the musical society, rowed together and even sparred together in the boxing ring. In 1911 they went up to Cambridge together and were at Trinity when war came.

Like his father Alick had ties as a Terrier with the King's Own Scottish Borderers and he was hesitant about returning to Cambridge following the summer holidays in 1914. He believed strongly that it was necessary to resist German arrogance and aggression, and was incensed by the invasion of Belgium. His father let him decide for himself what he should do and so it was that he offered himself for service overseas within days of the declaration of war.

Alick was amongst the first officers to be sent to the front and arrived on the Aisne in September 1914. It was hard for him to marry his religious beliefs with the idea of fighting a war:

I do feel most strongly that Britain is fighting for her own life. We are not only out as avengers of poor little Belgium, which is quite enough to justify our being here – but we are fighting in defence of our friends and our homes, who will most certainly suffer a worse fate than Belgium if those Germans aren't squashed now. Yet I cannot help thinking war is not Christian.

On 31 October 1914 Alick was sent into Messines on board a bus when the 9th Lancers clung onto it for dear life and then returned home in time for Christmas quite broken down. His worried grandfather hovered over him day and night at Portland where his father was with the reserve battalion of the Borderers. Whilst he was there Ellicott arrived, Alick having secured a commission in the regiment for his friend. On 24 April Frank was married to a sweetheart from their Cambridge days with a reception at the Royal Hotel in Weymouth. The couple were keen to be married before he was sent to war and Alick acted, naturally, as his best man.

A few nights after the wedding Alick was sitting down at dinner with the rest of the Three Generations when an urgent message arrived ordering him back to the front. Acting nonchalantly he put together his belongings and set off towards Boulogne and then into the Ypres area where he found his men at Vlamertinghe. He took up command of his precious B Company, which he found had been whittled down to half strength on the salient. Trench warfare took its toll mentally on Alick. He arrived home on leave with two bullet holes in his tunic but refused to talk about them or how they got there. He was Alick ‘but he appeared older, graver but still gentle and humorous'.

It was becoming apparent that, as summer approached, momentous events were in the offing. All leave was stopped, training escalated and twice orders to attack a position at Wailly had been cancelled when they were all but ready to go. It was therefore no surprise when, on 2 July, the battalion was pulled from the lines and put on notice to be ready to march immediately.

Less than two weeks later, unaware that Frank Ellicott had been killed elsewhere on the battlefield, Alick and the 2nd King's Own Scottish Borderers began to move southwards. They marched furiously, carried gratefully part of the way by buses, and arrived south-east of Albert on 17 July. Here they found themselves amongst a huge mass of troops that had been gathered for Rawlinson's big push, now due to take place on 23 July.

Two days later Alick's battalion was on parade when orders came. They were told to make their way up to the lines immediately. Marching past Fricourt and Mametz they made their way towards High Wood, another battered collection of trees and shell holes that lay to the north of Longueval. Their guides, when they finally turned up, began taking them through the darkness to the front lines. All around, the guns raged. ‘The far flung duel increased in fury as the night advanced, filling the air with a deafening clamour and lighting up the landscape with lurid flames.' They groped their way along in the dark for nearly 3 miles, past Montauban and across a valley to a front-line trench that lay in between Bazentin-le-Grand and Longueval whilst they were ‘nearly shelled to death'.

At 1 a.m. on 20 July Alick made his way down the trench giving his platoon officers their instructions. High Wood lay 1,200 yards ahead in German hands. That night another brigade was to try to take it. As they did so the Borderers were to attack a road junction that ran away from the site. Alick's would be one of three companies going over the top, across gentle rising slope. When they reached the road they were to dig like mad and establish a trench that could be used as a jumping-off point for the battle that was to follow on the 23rd.

At 3.30 a.m. the signal was given, the barrage lifted and Alick led his men over the top. Their task was a daunting one. They climbed steadily, Alick at the front, whilst the German gunners took potshots at them. They reached the road in the face of intermittent rifle fire and began to dig frantically to establish some form of cover. Alick urged them on. ‘His bravery went straight to the hearts of the men.' Grimly they held on to their makeshift trenches till midnight. Alick was prominent in keeping the men going, especially when his company sergeant major was badly hit. Before the gravely injured man was carried to a nearby dressing station, Alick clambered up on to the parapet and made a dash to him to be able to hold his hand and wish him well. At the end of the day he managed to scribble a note off to his father. ‘Just a line to report all well. It is most interesting (though pretty energetic) here.'

The time had finally come for Henry Rawlinson's large-scale assault. Whileit commenced on 23 July, for Alick and his men zero hour would come a few hours earlier. The assault between Delville Wood and High Wood would begin first at 10 p.m. on 22 July so that there would be time to take care of ‘Wood Trench', an inconvenient landmark that lay in their way.

At noon on 22 July Alick and his men were told to get ready. As night approached the preliminary bombardment commenced. Alick was to go over in the second wave through a cacophony of noise and darkness, the way intermittently lit by flares and flames. His company ran headlong into heavy shell and machine-gun fire and the assault ultimately ground to a halt as the leading companies of the battalion ran into the back of some Royal Warwickshires in front who had turned on their heels after being exposed and their ranks raked by machine guns. Alick soon arrived on the scene. There were men everywhere. All they could do in the confusion of darkness was drop into a trench and cling on. It appeared that the attack was caving in. Disorganisation was rife. One battalion was not even aware that there was a trench in its way. The bombardment, for which, bear in mind, the gunners had not been given instructions until it began getting dark, had not been effective. The men simply couldn't get forward. As dawn broke orders arrived to fall back to their original front line.

Alick and his men, scattered as they were, for now remained forward. He managed to get a hasty report back to his commanding officer and then waited until he received a message telling him to fall back to a trench 300 yards behind which afforded better cover. Just as dawn was breaking on 23 July they got up to move. Concerned that he might not be taking all his men with him, Alick climbed cautiously out of the congested trench and began heading away from High Wood. He edged along a sunken road that ran close to the firing line, stopping every now and again to drop on to the back edge of the trench to look in and enquire if any B Company men were about. ‘It is becoming too clear to be moving about,' he told them. ‘We must be getting back.' He rounded up six or so men operating under a Sergeant Evans, all of whom climbed out of the trench and began following him.

Some 120 yards on Alick leaned down again and had just turned his head to be back on his way when a shell exploded level with his waist. Alick fell forward towards the trench with his head resting on the parapet whilst Evans sprinted to him. The men in the trench had begun pulling at his arms and shoulders to get him inside and under cover but Alick was already gone. His bottom half had been blown away.

Mortified the men lowered him into their trench and for the whole of that stifling summer day they covered him with a waterproof sheet and sat watching over his remains. As soon as dusk came they carried him for 2 miles under shellfire in the direction of Mametz. When they arrived, men of the battalion that had slipped away from their duties came out to meet the stretcher bearers. Alick was laid to rest at Dantzig Alley, a cemetery which had recently been started near Mametz, 3 miles from his best friend and fellow OE, Frank Ellicott.

His commanding officer and men were distraught. A few days before Alick's death another officer had remarked that he ‘looked after his subalterns like a father, even though some of them look twice his age'. The same man wrote to Alick's father to tell him that his son's display had been faultless, proof ‘that the metal is gold and tried in the fire'.