UBRARY
OF
,-
LIFE IN A TANK
A TANK ON ITS WAY INTO ACTION
LIFE IN A TANK
By
RICHARD HAIGH, M.C,
CAPTAIN IN THE TANK CORPS
With Illustrations
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
<3t&e Riterjii&e prestf
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY RICHARD HAIGH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published June iQiS
Contents
I. The Meaning of the Tank Corps I
II. First Days of Training II
III. Later Days of Training 37
IV. Moving up the Line 49
V. Preparations for the Show . 61
VI. The First Battle 76
VII. The Second Battle 90
VIII. Rest and Discipline 120
IX. A Philosophy of War. 128
Illustrations
A Tank on its Way into Action . . . Frontispiece
British Official Photograph
King George and Queen Mary inspecting a Tank
on the British Front in France .... 8
British Official Photograph
A British Tank and its Crew in New York . 20
Photograph by Underwood & Underwood
A Tank moving to the Attack down what was
once a Main Street 56
British Official Photograph
A Tank going over a Trench on its Way into Ac-
tion 72
British Official Photograph
A Tank halfway over the Top and awaiting the
Order to Advance in the Battle of Menin Road 80
Photograph by Underwood & Underwood
A Tank bringing in a Captured German Gun
under Protection of Camouflage . . . .112
Photograph by Underwood & Underwood
A British Tank in the Liberty Loan Parade in
New York 124
Photograph by Underwood & Underwood
LIFE IN A TANK
THE MEANING OF THE TANK CORPS
TANKS!
To the uninitiated — as were we in those days
when we returned to the Somme, too late to see
the tanks make their first dramatic entrance —
the name conjures up a picture of an iron mon-
ster, breathing fire and exhaling bullets and
shells, hurling itself against the enemy, un-
assailable by man and impervious to the most
deadly engines of war; sublime, indeed, in its
expression of indomitable power and resolu-
tion.
This picture was one of the two factors which
attracted us toward the Heavy Branch Ma-
chine-Gun Corps — as the Tank Corps was
known in the first year of its being. On the
Somme we had seen a derelict tank, wrecked,
despoiled of her guns, and forsaken in No
Life in a Tank
Man's Land. We had swarmed around and
over her, wild with curiosity, much as the Lilli'
putians must have swarmed around the pros*
trate Gulliver. Our imagination was fired.
The second factor was, frankly, that we were
tired of going over the top as infantrymen. The
first time that a man goes into an attack, he as
a rule enjoys it. He has no conception of its
horrors," — no, not horrors, for war possesses no
horrors, — but, rather, he has no knowledge of
the sudden realization of the sweetness of life
that comes to a man when he is "up against it."
The first time, it is a splendid, ennobling nov-
elty. And as for the "show" itself, in actual
practice it is more like a dream which only
clarifies several days later, after it is all over.
But to do the same thing a second and third and
fourth time, is to bring a man face to face with
Death in its fullest and most realistic uncer-
tainty. In soldier jargon he "gets most awful
wind up." It is five minutes before "Zero
Hour." All preparations are complete. You are
waiting for the signal to hop over the parapet.
Very probably the Boche knows that you are
The Meaning of the Tank Corps
coming, and is already skimming the sandbags
with his machine guns and knocking little pieces
of earth and stone into your face. Extraordi-
nary, how maddening is the sting of these harm-
less little pebbles and bits of dirt ! The bullets
ricochet away with a peculiar singing hiss, or
crack overhead when they go too high. The
shells which burst on the other side of the para-
pet shake the ground with a dull thud and
crash. There are two minutes to wait before
going over. Then is the time when a man feels
a sinking sensation in his stomach; when his
hands tremble ever so slightly, and when he of-
fers up a pathetic little prayer to God that if
he's a bit of a sportsman he may be spared from
death, should his getting through not violate
the divine and fatalistic plans. He has that
unpleasant lack of knowledge of what comes be-
yond. For after all, with the most intense belief
in the world, it is hard to reconcile the com-
forting feeling of what one knows with that
terrible dread of the unknown.
A man has no great and glorious ideas that
nothing matters because he is ready to die for
3
Life in a Tank
his country. He is, of course, ready to die for
her. But he does not think about it. He lights
a cigarette and tries to be nonchalant, for he
knows that his men are watching him, and it
is his duty to keep up a front for their sake.
Probably, at the same time, they are keeping
up a front for him. Then the Sergeant Major
comes along, cool and smiling, as if he were
out for a stroll at home. Suddenly he is an im-
mense comfort. One forgets that sinking feel-
ing in the stomach and thinks, "How easy
and jolly he is! What a splendid fellow!"
Immediately, one begins unconsciously to imi-
tate him. Then another thinks the same thing
about one, and begins to imitate too. So it
passes on, down the line. But there is nothing
heroic or exalting in going over the top.
This, then, was our possible second reason for
preferring to attack inside bullet-proof steel; not
that death is less likely in a tank, but there
seems to be a more sporting chance with a shell
than with a bullet. The enemy infantryman
looks along his sight and he has you for a cer-
tainty, but the gunner cannot be so accurate
4
The Meaning of the Tank Corps
and twenty yards may mean a world of differ-
ence. Above all, the new monster had our im-
aginations in thrall. Here were novelty and
wonderful developments.
In the end of 1916, therefore, a certain num-
ber of officers and men received their orders to
join the H.B.M.G.C., and proceeded sorrow-
fully and joyfully away from the trenches.
Sorrowfully, because it is a poor thing to leave
your men and your friends in danger, and get
out of it yourself into something new and
fresh; joyfully, because one is, after all, but
human.
About thirty miles behind the line some vil-
lages were set aside for the housing and train-
ing of the new units. Each unit had a nucleus
of men who had already served in tanks, with
the new arrivals spread around to make up to
strength.
The new arrivals came from all branches
of the Service; Infantry, Sappers, Gunners,
Cavalry, and the Army Service Corps. Each
man was very proud of his own Branch; and
a wonderfully healthy rivalry and affection
5
Life in a Tank
sprang up between them. The gunner twitted
the sapper, the cavalryman made jokes at the
A.S.C., and the infantryman groused at the
whole lot. But all knew at the bottom of their
hearts, how each is essential to the other.
It was to be expected when all these varied
men came together, that the inculcating of a
proper esprit de corps — the training of each in-
dividual in an entirely new science for the bene-
fit of the whole — would prove a very difficult
and painstaking task. But the wonderful de-
velopment, however, in a few months, of a
large, heterogeneous collection of men into a
solid, keen, self-sacrificing unit, was but an-
other instance of the way in which war im-
proves the character and temperament of man.
It was entirely new for men who were for-
merly in a regiment, full of traditions, to find
themselves in the Tank Corps. Here was a
Corps, the functions of which resulted from an
idea born of the exigencies of this science-de-
manding war. Unlike every other branch of the
Service, it has no regimental history to direct
it, no traditions upon which to build, and still
6
The Meaning of the Tank Corps
more important from a practical point of view,
no experience from which to draw for guidance,
either in training or in action. In the Infantry,
the attack has resulted from a steady develop-
ment in ideas and tactics, with past wars to
give a foundation and this present one to sug-
gest changes and to bring about remedies for
the defects which crop up daily. With this new
weapon, which was launched on the Somme on
September 15, 1916, the tactics had to be de-
cided upon with no realistic experimentation as
ground work; and, moreover, with the very
difficult task of working in concert with other
arms of the Service that had had two years of
fighting, from which to learn wisdom.
With regard to discipline, too, — of all
things the most important, for the success of
a battle has depended, does, and always will de-
pend, upon the state of discipline of the troops
engaged, — all old regiments have their staff
of regular instructors to drill and teach re-
cruits. In them has grown up that certain feel-
ing and loyalty which time and past deeds have
done so much to foster and cherish. Here were
Life in a Tank
we, lacking traditions, history, and experience
of any kind.
It is easy to realize the responsibility that lay
not only upon the Chief of this new Corps, but
upon each individual and lowest member there-
of. It was for us all to produce esprit de corps,
and to produce it quickly. It was necessary for
us to develop a love of the work, not because
we felt it was worth while, but because we
knew that success or failure depended on each
man's individual efforts.
But, naturally, the real impetus came from
the top, and no admiration or praise can be
worthy of that small number of men in whose
hands the real destinies of this new formation
lay; who were continually devising new schemes
and ideas for binding the whole together, and
for turning that whole into a highly efficient, up-
to-date machine.
"How did the tank happen to be invented?"
is a common question. The answer is that in
past wars experience has made it an axiom that
the defenders suffer more casualties than the
attacking forces. From the first days of 1914,
8
The Meaning of the Tank Corps
however, this condition was reversed, and
whole waves of attacking troops were mown
down by two or three machine guns, each
manned, possibly, by not more than three men.
There may be in a certain sector, before an at-
tack, an enormous preliminary bombardment
which is destined to knock out guns, observa-
tion posts, dumps, men, and above all, machine-
gun emplacements. Nevertheless, it has been
found in actual practice that despite the most
careful observation and equally careful study
of aeroplane photographs, there are, as a rule,
just one or two machine guns which, either
through bad luck or through precautions on
the part of the enemy, have escaped destruc-
tion. These are the guns which inflict the dam-
age when the infantrymen go over and which
may hold up a whole attack.
It was thought, therefore, that a machine
might be devised which would cross shell-
craters, wire and trenches, and be at the same
time impervious to bullets, and which would
contain a certain number of guns to be used
for knocking out such machine guns as were
9
Life in a Tank
still in use, or to lay low the enemy infantry.
With this idea, a group of men, in the end of
1915, devised the present type of heavy ar-
moured car. In order to keep the whole plan
as secret as possible, about twenty-five square
miles of ground in Great Britain were set aside
and surrounded with armed guards. There,
through all the spring and early summer of
1916, the work was carried on, without the
slightest hint of its existence reaching the out-
side world. Then, one night, the tanks were
loaded up and shipped over to France, to make
that first sensational appearance on the Somme,
with the success which warranted their further
production on a larger and more ambitious
scale.
II
FIRST DAYS OF TRAINING
WE were at a rest camp on the Somme when
the chit first came round regarding the joining
of the H.B.M.G.C. The Colonel came up to
us one day with some papers in his hand.
"Does anybody want to join this ? " he asked.
We all crowded around to find out what
"this "might be.
"Tanks!" some one cried. Some were face-
tious; others indifferent; a few mildly inter-
ested. But no one seemed very keen about it,
especially as the tanks in those days had a
reputation for rather heavy casualties. Only
Talbot, remembering the derelict and the
interest she had inspired, said, with a laugh, —
" I rather think I '11 put my name down, sir.
Nothing will come of it, but one might just as
well try." And taking one of the papers he filled
it in, while the others stood around making all
the remarks appropriate to such an occasion.
ii
Life in a Tank
Two or three weeks went by and Talbot
had forgotten all about it, in the more absorbing
events which crowded months into days on the
Somme.
One day the Adjutant came up to him and,
smiling, put out his hand.
"Well, good-bye, Talbot. Good luck."
When a man puts out his hand and says
"Good-bye," you naturally take the proffered
hand and say "Good-bye," too. Talbot found
himself saying "Good-bye" before he realized
what he was doing. Then he laughed.
"Now that I've said 'Good-bye,' where am
I going?" he asked.
"To the Tanks," the Adjutant replied.
So he was really to go; really to leave behind
his battalion, his friends, his men, and his serv-
ant. For a moment the Somme and the camp
seemed the most desirable places on earth.
He thought he must have been a fool the
day he signed that paper signifying his de-
sire to join another Corps. But it was done
now. There were his orders in the Colonel's
hand.
12
First Days of Training
"When do I start, sir? And where do I go?"
he asked.
"You're to leave immediately for B ,
wherever that is. Take your horse as far as
the railhead and get a train for B , where
the Tank Headquarters are. Good-bye, Tal-
bot; I'm sorry to lose you." A silent hand-
shake, and they parted.
Talbot's kit was packed and sent off on
the transport. A few minutes later he was
shaking hands all round. His spirits were ris-
ing at the thought of this new adventure, but
it was a wrench, leaving his regiment. It was,
in a way, he thought, as if he were turning his
back on an old friend. The face of Dobbin,
his groom, as he brought the horses round was
not conducive to cheer. He must get the busi-
ness over and be off. So he mounted and rode
off through a gray, murky drizzle, to the rail-
head about eight miles away. There came
the parting with Dobbin and with his pony.
Horses mean as much as men sometimes, and
his had worked so nobly with him through the
mud on the Somme. He wondered if there would
13
Life in a Tank
be any one in the new place who would be
so faithful to him as Polly. Finally, there was
Dobbin riding away, back to M , with the
horse, and its empty saddle, trotting along be-
side him. It was simply rotten leaving them
all!
One has, however, little time for introspec-
tion in the Army, and especially when one
engages in a tilt with an R.T.O. The R.T.O.
has been glorified by an imaginative soul with
the title of "Royal Transportation Officer."
As a matter of fact, the "R" does not stand
for "royal," but for "railway," and the "T"
is "transport," nothing so grandiose as "trans-
portation." Now an R.T.O.'s job, though it
may be a safe one, is not enviable. He is forced
to combine the qualities of booking-clerk, sta-
tion-master, goods-agent, information clerk,
and day and night watchman all into one. In
consequence of this it is necessary for the
traveller's speech and attitude to be strictly
soothing and complimentary. Talbot's obses-
sion at this moment was as to whether B — • —
was near or far back from the line.
First Days of Training
If he supposed that B was "near" the
line, the R.T.O. might tell him — just to prove
how kind Fate is — that it was a good many
miles in the rear. But no such luck. The R.T.O.
coldly informed Talbot that he had n't the
slightest idea where B was. He only knew
that trains went there. And, by the way, the
trains did n't go there direct. It would be nec-
essary for him to change at Boulogne. Talbot
noticed these signs of thawing with delight.
And to change at Boulogne ! Life was brighter.
Travelling in France in the northern area,
at the present time, would seem to be a refu-
tation of the truth that a straight line is the
shortest distance between two points. For in
order to arrive at one's destination, it is usu-
ally necessary to go about sixty miles out of
one's way, — hence the necessity for Talbot's
going to Boulogne in order to get a train run-
ning north.
He arrived at Boulogne only to find that
the train for B left in an hour.
He strolled out into the streets. Boulogne
had then become the Mecca for all those in
15
Life in a Tank
search of gaiety. Here were civilized people
once again. And a restaurant with linen and
silver and shining glass, and the best dinner
he had ever eaten.
When he had paid his bill and gone out, he
stopped at the corner of the street just to look
at the people passing by. A large part of the
monotony of this war is occasioned, of course,
by the fact that the soldier sees nothing but
the everlasting drab of uniforms. When a man
is in the front line, or just behind, for weeks
at a time he sees nothing but soldiers, soldiers,
soldiers ! Each man has the same coloured uni-
form; each has the same pattern tunic, the
same puttees. Each is covered with the same
mud for days at a time. It is the occasion for
a thrill when a "Brass Hat" arrives, for he
at least has the little brilliant red tabs on his
tunic! A man sometimes finds himself envy-
ing the soldiers of the old days who could have
occasional glimpses of the dashing uniforms of
their officers, and although a red coat makes a
target of a man, the colour is at least more
cheerful than the eternal khaki. The old-time
16
First Days of Training
soldier had his red coat and his bands, blaring
encouragingly. The soldier of to-day has his
drab and no music at all, unless he sings. And
every man in an army is not gifted with a voice.
So Talbot looked with joy on the charm-
ing dresses and still more charming faces of
the women and girls who passed him. Even
the men in their civilian clothes were good to
look upon.
Riding on French trains is very soothing
unless one is in a hurry. But unlike a man in
civil life, the soldier has no interest in the speed
of trains. The civilian takes it as a personal
affront if his train is a few minutes late, or if it
does not go as fast as he thinks it should. But
the soldier can afford to let the Government look
after such minor details. The train moved along
at a leisurely pace through the lovely French
countryside, making frequent friendly stops at
wayside stations. On the platform at Etaples
station was posted a rhyme which read : —
"A wise old owl lived in an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke;
The less he spoke, the more he heard;
Soldiers should imitate that old bird.'*
17
Life in a Tank
It was the first time that Talbot had seen
this warlike ditty. Its intention was to guard
soldiers from saying too much in front of
strangers. Talbot vowed, however, to apply
its moral to himself at all times and under all
conditions.
From nine in the morning until half-past
two in the afternoon they rolled along, and had
covered by this time the extraordinary dis-
tance of about forty miles ! Here at last was the
station of Saint-P .
Talbot looked about him. Standing near
was an officer with the Machine-Gun Corps
Badge, whom he hailed, and questioned about
the Headquarters of the Tank Corps.
"About ten miles from here. Are you going
there?" the fellow asked.
Talbot explained that he hoped to, and be-
ing saturated with Infantry ideas, he wondered
if a passing motor lorry might give him a lift.
The man laughed. "Why don't you tele-
phone Headquarters and ask them to send a car
over for you?" he asked.
Talbot did not quite know whether the
18
First Days of Training
fellow were ragging him or not. He decided
that he was, for who had ever heard of "tele-
phoning for a car"?
"Oh, I don't believe I'll do that — thanks
very much for the hint, all the same," he said.
"Just tell me which road to take and I'll be
quite all right."
The officer smiled.
"I'm quite serious about it," he said. "We
all telephone for cars when we need them.
There's really no point in your walking — in
fact, they'll be surprised if you stroll in upon
them. Try telephoning and you'll find they
won't die of shock."
Partly to see whether they would or not, and
partly because he found the prospect of a mo-
tor car more agreeable than a ten-mile walk,
Talbot telephoned. Here he experienced an-
other pleasant surprise, for he was put through
to Headquarters with no difficulty at all. A
cheerful voice answered and he stated his case.
"Cheero," the voice replied. "We'll have
a car there for you in an hour — have n't one
now, but there will be one ready shortly."
19
Life in a Tank
Saint-P was a typical French town, and
Talbot strolled around. There were soldiers
everywhere, but the town had never seen the
Germans, and it was a pleasant place. There
was, too, a refreshing lack of thick mud — at
least it was not a foot deep. .
Although Talbot could not quite believe
that the car would materialize, it proved to
be a substantial fact in the form of a box-body,
and in about an hour he was speeding toward
Headquarters. It was dark when they reached
the village, and as they entered, he experienced
that curious feeling of apprehensive expectancy
with which one approaches the spot where one
is to live and work for some time to come. The
car slowed up to pass some carts on the road,
and started forward with such a jerk that
Talbot was precipitated from the back of the
machine into the road. He picked himself up,
covered with mud. The solemn face of the
driver did not lessen his discomfiture. Here
was a strange village, strange men, and he
was covered with mud !
Making himself as presentable as possible,
20
First Days of Training
Talbot reported to Headquarters, and was
posted to "J" Company, 4th Battalion.
That night he had dinner with them. New men
were arriving every few minutes, and the next
day, after he had been transferred to "K"
Company, they continued to arrive. The nu-
cleus of this company were officers of the orig-
inal tanks, three or four of them perhaps, and
the rest was made up with the newcomers.
Men continued to arrive in driblets, from the
beginning of December to the first of January.
When a new man joins an old regiment there is
a reserve about the others which is rather chill-
ing. They wait to see whether he is going to
fit in, before they make any attempts to fit
him in. In a way, this very aloofness makes for
comfort on the part of the newcomer. At mess,
he is left alone until he is absorbed naturally.
It gives him a chance to find his level.
All this was different with the Tank Corps.
With the exception of the very few officers who
were "old men," we were all painfully new, so
that we regarded one another without criticism
and came to know each other without having
21
Life in a Tank
to break through the wall of reserve and in-
stinctive mistrust which is characteristically
British. A happy bond of good-fellowship was
formed immediately.
The first few days were spent in finding bil-
lets for the men. They were finally quartered
at a hospice in the village. This was a private
almshouse, in charge of a group of French nuns,
where lived a number of old men and women,
most of them in the last stages of consumption.
The Hospice consisted of the old Abbey of
Ste. Berthe, built in the twelfth century, and
several outbuildings around a courtyard. In
these barns lived the men, and one large room
was reserved for the officers' mess. The Com-
pany Orderly Room and Quartermaster's
Stores were also kept in the Hospice, and four
or five officers were quartered above the Re-
fectory. The buildings were clean and comfort-
able, and the only drawback lay in the fact that
one sometimes found it objectionable to have
to look at these poor old creatures, dragging
themselves around. They had nothing to do,
it seemed, but to wait and die. One old man
22
First Days of Training
was a gruesome sight. He was about ninety
years old and spent his days walking about the
courtyard, wearing a cigarette tin hung around
his neck, into which he used to cough with such
terrible effort that it seemed as if he would die
every time the spasm shook him. As a matter
of fact, he and many others did die before we
left the village: the extreme cold was too much
for them ; or perhaps it was the fact that their
quiet had been invaded by the "mad English."
It was during this time that Talbot devel-
oped a positive genius for disappearing when-
ever a gray habit came into sight. The nuns
were splendid women : kind and hospitable and
eager for our comfort, but they did not like
to be imposed upon, however slightly. The
first thing that Frenchwomen do — and these
nuns were no exception — - when soldiers are
billeted with them, is to learn who is the officer
in charge, in order that they may lose no time in
bringing their complaints to him. The Mother
Superior of the Hospice selected Talbot with
unerring zeal. His days were made miserable,
until in self-defence he thought of formulating
23
Life in a Tank
a new calendar of "crimes" for his men, in
which would be included all the terrible offence?
which the Mother Superior told off to him.
Did the Colonel send for Captain Talbot,
and did Talbot hurry off to obey the com-
mand, just so surely would the Mother Superior
select that moment to bar his path.
"Ah, mon Capitaine!" she would exclaim,
with a beaming smile. "J'ai quelque chose a
vous dire. Un soldat — "
Talbot would break in politely, just as she
had settled down for a good long chat, and
explain that the Colonel wished to see him. As
well try to move the Rock. It was either stand
and listen, or go into the presence of his su-
perior officer with an excited nun following him
with tales of the "crimes" his men had com-
mitted. Needless to say, the Mother Superior
conquered. Talbot would have visions of some
fairly serious offence, and would hear the tale of
a soldier who had borrowed a bucket an hour
ago, promising, on his honour as a soldier of the
King, to return it in fifty minutes at the most.
"And it is now a full sixty minutes by the
24
First Days of Training
clock on the kitchen mantel, M'sieu le Capi-
taine," she would say, her colour mounting,
"and your soldier has not returned my bucket.
If he does not bring it back, when can we get
another bucket?"
And so on, until Talbot would pacify her,
promising her that the bucket would be re-
turned. Then he would go on to the Colonel,
breathless and perturbed, his mind so full of
buckets that there was hardly room for the
business of the Tank Corps. Small wonder
that the sight of a gray habit was enough to
unnerve the man.
He, himself, was billeted with a French fam-
ily, just around the corner from the Hospice.
The head of the family had been, in the halcyon
days before the war, the village butcher. There
was now Madame, the little Marie, a sturdy boy
about twelve, and the old Grand'mere. The
husband was away, of course, — "dans les tran-
chees," explained Madame with copious tears.
Talbot was moved to sympathy, and made
a few tactful inquiries as to where the husband
was now, and how he had fared.
25
Life in a Tank
"II est maintenant a Paris," said Madame
with a sigh.
"In Paris! What rank has he? — a General,
maybe?"
"Ah, M'sieu s'amuse," said Madame, bright-
ening up. No, her husband was a chef at an
officers' mess in Paris, she explained proudly.
He had been there since the war broke out. He
would soon come home, the Saints be praised.
Then the Captain would hear him tell his tales
of life in the Army!
The hero came home one day, and great was
the rejoicing. Thrilling evenings the family
spent around the stove while they listened to
stories of great deeds. On the day when his
permission was finished, and he set out for his
hazardous post once more, great was the la-
menting. Madame wept. All the brave man's
relatives poured in to kiss him good-bye. The
departing soldier wept, himself. Even Grand'-
mere desisted for that day from cracking jokes,
which she was always doing in a patois that to
Talbot was unintelligible.
But they were very kind to Talbot, and
26
First Days of Training
very courageous through the hard winter.
When he lay ill with fever in his little low room,
where the frost whitened the plaster and icicles
hung from the ceiling, Madame and all the
others were most solicitous for his comfort.
His appreciation and thanks were sincere.
By the middle of December the Battalion
had finally settled down and we began our
training. Our first course of study was in the
mechanism of the tanks. We marched down,
early one morning, to an engine hangar that
was both cold and draughty. We did not look
in the least like embryo heroes. Over our
khaki we wore ill-fitting blue garments which
men on the railways, who wear them, call
"boilers." The effect of wearing them was to
cause us to slouch along, and suddenly Talbot
burst out laughing at the spectacle. Then he
remembered having heard that some of the
original "Tankers" had, during the Somme
battles, been mistaken for Germans in their
blue dungarees. They had been fired on from
some distance away, by their own infantry;
though nothing fatal ensued. In consequence,
27
Life in a Tank
before the next "show" chocolate ones were
issued.
In the shadows of the engine shed, a gray
armour-plated hulk loomed up.
"There it is!" cried Gould, and started for-
ward for a better look at the "Willie."
Across the face of Rigden, the instructor,
flashed a look of scorn and pain. Just such a
look you may have seen on the face of a young
mother when you refer to her baby as " it."
"Don't call a tank 'it,' Gould," he said with
admirable patience. "A tank is either 'he' or
'she'; there is no 'it.'"
"In Heaven's name, what's the difference?"
asked Gould, completely mystified. The rest
of us were all ears.
"The female tank carries machine guns only,"
Rigden explained. "The male tank carries
light field guns as well as machine guns. Don't
ever make the mistake again, any of you
fellows."
Having firmly fixed in our minds the fact
that we were to begin on a female "Willie," the
instruction proceeded rapidly. Rigden opened
28
First Days of Training
a little door in the side of the tank. It was about
as big as the door to a large, old-fashioned brick
oven built into the chimney beside the fireplace.
His head disappeared and his body followed
after. He was swallowed up, save for a hand
that waved to us and a muffled voice which
said, "Come on in, you fellows."
Gould went first. He scrambled in, was lost
to sight, and then we heard his voice.
McKnutt's infectious laugh rose above the
sound of our mirth. But not for long.
"Hurry up!" called Rigden. "You next,
McKnutt."
McKnutt disappeared. Then to our further
astonishment his rich Irish voice could be
heard upraised in picturesque malediction.
What was Rigden doing to them inside the tank
to provoke such profanity from them both?
The rest of us scrambled to find out. We soon
learned.
When you enter a tank, you go in head first,
entering by the side doors. (There is an emer-
gency exit — a hole in the roof which is used
by the wise ones.) You wiggle your body in
29
Life in a Tank
with more or less grace, and then you stand up.
Then, if it is the first time, you are usually pro-
fane. For you have banged your head most
unmercifully against the steel roof and you
learn, once and for all, that it is impossible to
stand upright in a tank. Each one of us re-
ceived our baptism in this way. Seven of us,
crouched in uncomfortable positions, ruefully
rubbed our heads, to Rigden's intense enjoy-
ment. Our life in a tank had begun !
We looked around the little chamber with
eager curiosity. Our first thought was that
seven men and an officer could never do any
work in such a little place. Eight of us were, at
present, jammed in here, but we were standing
still. When it came to going into action and
moving around inside the tank, it would be
impossible, — there was no room to pass one
another. So we thought. In front are two stiff
seats, one for the officer and one for the driver.
Two narrow slits serve as portholes through
which to look ahead. In front of the officer
is a map board, and gun mounting. Behind
the engine, one on each side, are the secondary
30
First Days of Training
gears. Down the middle of the tank is the pow-
erful petrol engine, part of it covered with a
hood, and along either side a narrow passage
through which a man can slide from the offi-
cer's and driver's seat back and forth to the
mechanism at the rear. There are four gun tur-
rets, two on each side. There is also a place
for a gun in the rear, but this is rarely used, for
"Willies" do not often turn tail and flee!
Along the steel walls are numberless ingeni-
ous little cupboards for stores, and ammunition
cases are stacked high. Every bit of space is
utilized. Electric bulbs light the interior. Be-
side the driver are the engine levers. Behind
the engine are the secondary gears, by which
the machine is turned in any direction. All
action inside is directed by signals, for when the
tank moves the noise is such as to drown a
man's voice.
All that first day and for many days after, we
struggled with the intricacies of the mechan-
ism. Sometimes, Rigden despaired of us. We
might just as well go back to our regiments,
unless they were so glad to be rid of us that
31
Life in a Tank
they would refuse. On other days, he beamed
with pride, even when Darwin and the Old Bird
distinguished themselves by asking foolish
questions. "Darwin " is, of course, not his right
name. Because he came from South Africa and
looked like a baboon, we called him "Baboon."
So let evolution evolve the name of "Darwin"
for him in these pages. As for the Old Bird,
no other name could have suited him so well.
He was the craftiest old bird at successfully
avoiding work we had ever known, and yet he
was one of the best liked men in the Company.
He was one of those men who are absolutely
essential to a mess because of his never-failing
cheer and gaiety. He never did a stroke of work
that he could possibly "wangle" out of. A
Scotchman by birth, he was about thirty-eight
years old and had lived all over the world. He
had a special fondness for China. Until he left
"K" Company, he was never known by any
other name than that of "Old Bird."
There was one man, from another Company,
who gave us the greatest amusement during
our Tank-mechanism Course. He was pa-
32
First Days of Training
thetically in earnest, but appeared to have no
brains at all. Sometimes, while asking each
other catch questions, we would put the most
senseless ones to him.
Darwin would say, "Look here, how is the
radiator connected with the differential ? "
The poor fellow would ponder for a minute
or two and then reply, "Oh! through the mag-
neto."
He naturally failed again and again to pass
his tests, and was returned to his old Corps.
Somehow we learned not to attempt to
stand upright in our steel prison. Before long,
McKnutt had ceased his remarks about sar-
dines in a tin and announced, "Sure! there
is plenty of room and to spare for a dozen
others here." The Old Bird no longer compared
the atmosphere, when we were all shut in tight,
with the Black Hole of Calcutta. In a word,
we had succumbed to the "Willies," and would
permit no man to utter a word of criticism
against them.
It is necessary here, perhaps, to explain why
we always call our machines "Willies." When
33
Life in a Tank
the tanks were first being experimented upon,
they evolved two, a big and a little one
Standing together they looked so ludicrouSj
that they were nicknamed "Big" and "Little
Willie." The name stuck; and now, no one in
the Corps refers to his machine in any other
way.
A few days before Christmas, our tank
course was finished, and the Old Bird suggested
a celebration. McKnutt led the cheering.
Talbot had an idea.
"Let's get a box-body and go over to Amiens
and do our Christmas shopping," he said.
A chorus of "Jove, that's great!" arose.
Every one made himself useful excepting the
Old Bird, who made up by contributing more
than any one else to the gaiety of the occasion.
The car was secured, and we all piled in, mak-
ing early morning hideous with our songs.
We sped along over the snowy roads. War
seemed very far away. We were extraordinarily
light-hearted. After about twenty miles the
cold sobered us down a little. Suddenly, the
car seemed to slip from under us and we found
34
First Days of Training
ourselves piled up in the soft snow of the^road.
A rear wheel had shot off, and it went rolling
along on its own. Fortunately we had been
going rather slowly since we were entering a
town, and no one was hurt. Berwick, the musi-
cian of the Company, looked like a snow image;
Darwin and the Old Bird were locked in each
other's arms, and had an impromptu and
friendly wrestling match in a snowdrift. Mc-
Knutt was invoking the aid of the Saints in
his endeavours to prevent the snow from
trickling down his back. Talbot and Gould,
who had got off lightly, supplied the laughter.
The wheel was finally rescued and restored to
its proper place, and we crawled along at an
ignominious pace until the spires of Amiens
welcomed us.
We shopped in the afternoon, buying all sorts
of ridiculous things, and collecting enough
stores to see us through a siege. After a hilari-
ous dinner at the Hotel de 1'Univers (never
had the Old Bird been so witty and gay), we
started back about eleven o'clock, and forget-
ting ourjnjured wheel, raced out of the town
35
Life in a Tank
toward home. A short distance down the main
boulevard, the wheel again came off, and this
time the damage could not be repaired. There
was nothing for it but to wait until morning,
and it was a disconsolate group that wandered
about. All the hotels were full up. Finally, a
Y.M.C.A. hut made some of us welcome.
We sat about, reading and talking, until we
dozed off in our chairs. The next morning we
got a new wheel and ran gingerly the sixty-
odd miles back, to regale the others with en-
viable tales of our pre-Christmas festivities.
Ill
LATER DAYS OF TRAINING
"WELL, thank Heaven, that sweat's over,"
said the Old Bird the night after we finished
our tank course, and had our celebration. He
stretched luxuriously.
"Yes, but you're starting off again on the
gun to-morrow morning," said the Major,
cheerfully.
The Old Bird protested.
"But I can have a few days' rest, sir, can't
I?" he said sorrowfully.
The Major laughed.
"No, you can't. You're down, so you'll
have to go through with it."
So for three days we sat in the open, in the
driving sleet, from half-past eight in the morn-
ing until half-past four in the afternoon, learn-
ing the gun. On the fourth day we finished off
our course with firing on the range. Surpris-
ing as it may seem, after two or three rounds
37
Life in a Tank
we could hit the very smallest object at a dis-
tance of four or five hundred yards.
"How many more courses must we go
through?" asked the Old Bird of Rigden, as
they strolled back one evening from the range.
The Old Bird was always interested in how
much — or, rather, how little — work he had
before him.
"There's the machine gun; the signalling
course, — you'll have to work hard on that,
but I know you don't object, — and also re-
volver practice. Are n't you thrilled?"
"No, I'm not," grumbled the Old Bird.
"Life is n't worth living with all this work to
do. I wish we could get into action."
"So do I," said Talbot, joining them. "But
while we're waiting, would n't you rather be
back here with good warm billets and a com-
fortable bed and plenty to eat, instead of sit-
ting in a wet trench with the Infantry?" He
remembered an old man in his regiment who
had been with the Salvation Army at home.
He would stump along on his flat feet, trudg-
ing miles with his pack on his back, and Tal-
38
Later Days of Training
hot had never heard him complain. He was
bad at drill. He could never get the orders
or formations through his head. Talbot had
often lost patience with him, but the old fel-
low was always cheerful. One morning, in
front of Bapaume, after a night of terrible cold,
the old man could not move. Talbot tried
to cheer him up and to help him, but he said
feebly: "I think I'm done for — I don't be-
lieve I shall ever get warm. But never mind,
sir." And in a few minutes he died, as uncom-
plainingly as he had lived. *
"You're right, of course, Talbot," the Old
Bird said. ."We're very well off here. But, I
say, how I should like to be down in Boulogne
for a few days!" And until they reached the
Mess, the Old Bird dilated on the charm of
Boulogne and all the luxuries he would indulge
in the next time he visited the city.
The rest of that week found us each day
parading at eight o'clock in the courtyard of
the Hospice, and after instruction the various
parties marched off to their several duties.
Some of us went to the tankdrome; some of
39
Life in a Tank
us to the hills overlooking historic Agincourt,
and others to the barn by the railroad where
we practised with the guns. Another party
accompanied Berwick to a secluded spot where
he drilled them in machine-gun practice. Bor-
wick was as skilful with a machine gun as with
a piano. This was the highest praise one could
give him.
That night at mess, Gould said suddenly: —
"To-morrow's a half day, is n't it?"
"Of course. Wake up, you idiot," said Tal-
bot. "We're playing 'J* Company at soccer,
and on Sunday we're playing 'L' at rugger.
Two strenuous days before us. Are you feeling
fit?"
Gould was feeling most awfully fit. In fact,
he assured the mess that he, alone, was a
match for "J" Company.
Our soccer team was made up almost en-
tirely of men who had been professional play-
ers. We had great pride in them, so that
on the following afternoon, an eager crowd
streamed out of the village to our football
field, which we had selected with great care. It
40
Later Days of Training
was as flat as a cricket pitch. A year ago it
had been ploughed as part of the French farm-
land, and now here were the English playing
football !
Before the game began there was a good deal
of cheerful chaffing on the respective merits
of the "J" and "K" Company teams. And
when the play was in progress and savage yells
rent the air, the French villagers looked on in
wonder and pity. They had always believed
the English to be mad. Now they were con-
vinced of it.
From the outset, however, "J" Company
was hopelessly outclassed, and wishing to be
generous to ia failing foe, we ceased our wild
cheering. "J" Company, on the other hand,
wishing to exhort their team to greater efforts,
made up for our moderation, with the result
that our allies were firmly convinced that "J"
Company had won the game! If not, why
should they dance up and down and wave their
hats and shriek? And even the score, five to
one in favor of "K" Company, failed to con-
vince them entirely. But "K" went home to
Life in a Tank
an hilarious tea, with a sense of work well
done.
And what of the rugger game the next day?
Let us draw a veil over it. Suffice it to say that
the French congratulated "K" Company over
the outcome of that, although the score was
twelve to three in favor of "J"!
We awoke on Monday morning with a de-
lightful feeling that something pleasant was
going to happen, for all the world the same
sensation we used to experience on waking on
our birthday and suddenly remembering that
gifts were sure to appear and that there would
be something rather special for tea! By the
time full consciousness returned, we remem-
bered that this was the day when, for the first
time, the tank was to be set in motion. Even
the Old Bird was eager.
We hurry off to the tankdrome. One after
another we slide in through the little door and
are swallowed up. The door is bolted behind the
last to enter. Officer and driver slip into their
respective seats. The steel shutters of the
portholes click as they are opened. The gun-
42
Later Days of Training
ners take their positions. The driver opens the
throttle a little and tickles the carburetor, and
the engine is started up. The driver races the
engine a moment, to warm her up. The officer
reaches out a hand and signals for first speed
on each gear; the driver throws his lever into
first; he opens the throttle: the tank — our
"Willie" — moves!
Supposing you were locked in a steel box,
with neither portholes to look through nor air-
holes to breathe from. Supposing you felt the
steel box begin to move, and, of course, were
unable to see where you were going. Can you
imagine the sensation ? Then you can guess the
feelings of the men in a tank, — excepting the
officer and driver, who can see ahead through
their portholes, — when the monster gets un-
der way. There are times, of course, with the
bullets flying thick and fast, when all port-
holes, for officer, driver, and gunners, must be
closed. Then we plunge ahead, taking an
occasional glimpse through the special pin-
point holes.
Thirty tons of steel rolls along with its hu-
43
Life in a Tank
man freight. Suddenly, the driver rings a bell.
He presses another button, and signals the
driver of the right-hand track into "neutral."
This disconnects the track from the engine.
The tank swings around to the right. The right-
hand driver gets the signal "First speed," and
we are off again, at a right angle to our former
direction.
Now we are headed for a gentle slope across
the field, and as we approach it, the tank digs
her nose into the base of the hill. She crawls
up. The men in the rear tip back and enjoy
it hugely. If the hill is steep enough they may
even find themselves lying flat on their backs
or standing on their heads ! But no such luck.
Presently they are standing as nearly upright
as it is ever possible to stand, and the tank is
balancing on the top of the slope. The driver is
not expert as yet, and we go over with an awful
jolt and tumble forward. This is rare fun !
But the instructor is not pleased. We must
try it all over again. So back again to attack
the hill a second time. The top is reached once
more 'and we balance there. The driver throws
44
Later Days of Training
out his clutch, we slip over very gently, and
carefully he lets the clutch in again and down
we go. The " Willie " flounders around for the
fraction of a second. Then, nothing daunted,
she starts off once more. We have visions of
her sweeping all before her some day far be-
hind the German lines.
Three or four weeks of this sort of thing, and
we are hardened to it.
Our reward came at last, however. After
mess one morning, when the conversation had
consisted mainly of the question, "When are
we going into a show?" with no answer to the
question, we were called into the Major's
room, where he told us, in strictest secrecy,
that in about three weeks a big attack was to
come off. We should go in at last!
For the next two or three weeks we studied
maps and aeroplane photographs, marking out
our routes, starting-points, rear ammunition-
dumps, forward dumps, and lines of supply.
At last, then, our goal loomed up and these
months of training, for the most part interest-
ing, but at times terribly boring, would bear
45
Life in a Tank
fruit. Two direct results were noticeable now
on looking back to the time when we joined.
First, each man in the Battalion knew how to
run a tank, how to effect slight repairs, how to
work the guns, and how to obtain the best re-
sults from the machine. Second, and very im-
portant, was the fact that the men and officers
had got together. The crews and officers of
each section knew and trusted each other. The
strangeness of feeling that was apparent in the
first days had now entirely disappeared, and
that cohesion of units which is so essential in
warfare had been accomplished. Each of us
knew the other's faults and the mistakes he
was prone to make. More important still, we
knew our own faults and weaknesses and had
the courage to carry on and overcome them.
A few nights before we moved up the line, we
gave a grand concert. Berwick and the Old
Bird planned it. On an occasion of this sort, the
Old Bird never grumbled at the amount of
work he was obliged to do. Some weeks before
we had bought a piano from one of the inhab-
itants of the village, and the piano was nat-
Later Days of Training
urally the piece de resistance of the concert.
The Old Bird went around for days at a time,
humming scraps of music with unintelligible
words which it afterwards developed at the
concert were awfully good songs of his own
composing. The Battalion tailor was called
in to make up rough Pierrot costumes. The
Old Bird drilled us until we begged for mercy,
while Berwick strummed untiringly at "the
piano. At last the great night arrived.
A stage had been built at one end of a hangar,
and curtains hung up.
The whole of the Staff and H.Q. had been
invited, and the maire, the cure, the medecin of
the village, and their families were also to at-
tend.
Promptly at eight o'clock, the concert be-
gan, with Berwick at the piano. Everything
went off without a hitch. Although "K" Com-
pany provided most of the talent, the Bat-
talion shared the honours of the entertainment.
Each song had a chorus, and so appreciative
was our audience that the choruses were re-
peated again and again. The one "lady" of
47
Life in a Tank
the Troupe looked charming, and "she" ar-
ranged for "her" voice to be entirely in keep-
ing with "her" dress and paint. The French
spectators enjoyed it hugely. They were a
great encouragement, for they laughed at
everything uproariously, though it could not
have been due to their understanding of the
jokes.
At ten o'clock we finished off with "God
Save the King," and went back to our billets
feeling that our stay in the village had been
splendidly rounded off.
IV
MOVING UP THE LINE
Two or three days before we were due to leave,
we had received orders to pack our surplus kit,
and have it at the Quartermaster's Stores at
a certain time. We drew a long breath. This
meant that the actual date, which up to the
present had been somewhat indefinite, was
close at hand. We were given orders to draw
our tanks and the whole Company was marched
over to work sheds about two miles away at
E , where tanks and stores were issued.
The variety and number of little things which
it is necessary to draw when fitting out a tank
for action is inconceivable. Tools, small spares,
Pyrenes, electric lamps, clocks, binoculars, tele-
scopes, petrol and oil funnels, oil squirts, grease
guns, machine guns, headlights, tail lamps, steel
hawsers, crowbars, shovels, picks, inspection
lamps, and last, but not least, ammunition.
The field-gun ammunition has to be taken out
49
Life in a Tank
of its boxes and placed in the shell racks inside
the tank. The S.A.A. (small arms ammunition)
must be removed from its boxes and stacked
away. At the same time every single round,
before being put into the drum, must be gauged.
All this has to be done in the last two or three
days, and everything must be checked and
countersigned. There is always a great deal
of fun for Tank Commanders in drawing their
stores. It is a temptation, when in the midst
of all these thousands of articles, to seize the
opportunity, when no one is looking, to pocket
a few extra spares and dainty little tools, not,
of course, for one's own personal benefit, but
simply because such things are always being
lost or stolen, and it is exasperating, to say
the least, to find one's self, at a critical mo-
ment, without some article which it is impos-
sible to duplicate at the time.
During these last few days it was a contin-
ual march for the men from B — — to E •.
Very often they were called back when their
day's work was over to draw some new article
or make some alteration which had been for-
50
Moving Up the Line
gotten at the time they were in the work-
shops.
At last, however, — on the third day follow-
ing the grand concert, — the kits were packed,
loaded on to the lorries, and sent off to E .
The troops said "Good-bye" to the village
which had been such a happy home and school
during that winter of 1916, and the officers
made their fond adieus to the mothers and
daughters of the houses in which they had been
billeted.
The companies formed up and marched
along to the workshops. Every one was in high
spirits, and there was a friendly race to see
which Company of the Battalion could load
up their tanks in the shortest time on to the
specially constructed steel trucks.
A few days before all these activities com-
menced, Talbot and another Tank Com-
mander had gone on to the tanks' ultimate
destination, A — • — , a village which had been
evacuated a few days before by the Germans
on their now famous retirement to the Hinden-
burg Line. It was a most extraordinary sight to
Life in a Tank
ride along the road from Albert to Bapaume,
which during the summer and winter of the
preceding year had witnessed such heavy fight-
ing. The whole country on each side of the
road was a desolate vista of shell-holes as far as
the eye could see. Where villages had been,
there was now no trace left of any sort of habi-
tation. One might think that, however heavy
a bombardment, some trace would be left of the
village which had suffered. There was literally
nothing left of the village through which had
run the road they were now travelling. Over
this scarred stretch of country were dotted
camps and groups of huts, with duck-boards
crossing the old shell-holes, some of which were
still full of water.
On approaching B they saw traces
everywhere of the methodical and organized
methods by which the Germans had retired.
The first sign was a huge shell-crater in the
middle of the road, about forty feet deep, which
the Boche had arranged to prevent armoured
cars from following him up. If they did suc-
ceed, the transports would be delayed in reach-
52
Moving Up the Line
ing them, at all events. These holes were rather
a nuisance, for the road itself was a mass of
lesser shell-craters and the soft ground on each
side was impassable. The road was crowded
with engineers and labor battalions, filling in
the shell-holes, and laying railways into the
outskirts of A .
In A — • — the old German notices were still
standing as they had been left. Strung across
the road on a wire was a notice which read:
"Fuhrweg nach Behagnies." Every house in
the town had been pulled down. The wily
Boche had not even blown them up. Instead
he [had saved explosives by attaching steel
hawsers to the houses and by means of tractors
had pulled them down, so that the roof and
sides fell in on the foundation. Every pump
handle in the village had been broken off short,
and not a single piece of furniture was left be-
hind. Later, we found the furniture from this
and other villages in the HIndenburg Line.
Saddest of all, however, was the destruction
of the beautiful poplar trees which once bor-
dered the long French roads built by Napoleon.
53
Life in a Tank
These had been sawn off at their base and al-
lowed to fall on the side of the road, not across
it, as one might suppose. If they had been
allowed to fall across the road, the Boche, him-
self, would have been hindered in his last
preparations for his retreat. Everything was
done with military "ends in view. The villages
were left in such a condition as to make them
uninhabitable, the more to add to our dis-
comfort and to make our hardships severer.
The trees were cut down only on those parts of
the road which were screened from observation
from his balloons and present trenches. In some
places where the road dipped into a valley the
trees had been left untouched.
At the place where our tanks were scheduled
to arrive, and which had lately been a railhead
of the Boche, all the metals had been torn up,
and in order to destroy the station itself, he had
smashed the cast-iron pillars which supported
the roof, and in consequence the whole building
had fallen in. But nothing daunted, the Brit-
ish engineers were even now working at top
speed laying down new lines. Some of the
54
Moving Up the Line
metals, which a few short weeks before had been
lying in countless stacks down on the quays at
the Bases, now unrolled themselves at the rate
of about two and a quarter miles a day. One
interesting feature of this rapid track-laying
was that when the tank train left E , on
its two and a half days' journey down to the
railhead at A , the track on which the train
was to run was not completed into A .
But, nevertheless, the track arrived ahead of
the train, which was the main point!
As they rode into the ruined village of A
Talbot and his companion came across still
further evidence of the steps which the German
will take to inconvenience his enemy. In order
to battle against the hordes of rats which are so
prevalent in the old parts of the line in France,
the Boche breeds cats in enormous numbers.
Yet, in order to carry out to the limit his idea
that nothing of value should fall into our hands,
he had killed every cat in the village. In every
house three or four of these poor little crea-
tures lay around with their heads chopped off.
Tabby cats, black cats, white cats, and little
55
Life in a Tank
kittens, all dead. Farther on, over a well at the
corner of the main square was posted a sign
which read: "This well is poisoned. Do not
touch. By order. R.E."
Here and there a house had been left intact,
with its furniture untouched. It was not until
later that it struck us as peculiar that these
houses had been spared from the general de-
struction. Two or three days later, however,
after we had moved in, and headquarters had
been established, we discovered that under
many of these houses, and at certain cross-
roads which had not been blown up in the usual
manner, the Boche had left mines, timed to go
off at any time up to twenty-eight days. One
could never be sure that the ground under-
neath one's feet would not blow up at any mo-
ment. These mines were small boxes of high
explosive, inside of which was a little metal tube
with trigger and detonator attached. Inside
the tube was a powerful acid, which, when it
had eaten its way through, set free the trigger
and exploded the charge. The length of time
it took for the mine to explode was gauged
56
A TANK MOVING TO THE ATTACK DOWN WHAT WAS
ONCE A MAIN STREET
Moving Up the Line
by the strength or weakness of the acid in the
tube.
We were also impressed with the mechanical
genius of the German. The Boche had made a
veritable mechanical toy out of nearly every
house in the village which he had spared. De-
lightful little surprises had been prepared for us
everywhere. Kick a harmless piece of wood, and
in a few seconds a bomb exploded. Pick up a
bit of string from the floor and another bomb
went off. Soon we learned to be wary of the
most innocent objects. Before touching any-
thing we made elaborate preparations for our
safety.
One of the men was greatly annoyed by a wire
which hung over his head when he was asleep,
but he did not wish to remove it. He had de-
cided that it was connected with some devilish
device which would do him no good. Finally,
one morning, he could endure this sword of
Damocles no longer. With two boon com-
panions, he carefully attached a string about
fifteen yards long to the wire. They tiptoed
gently out of the house to a discreet distance,
57
Life in a Tank
and with a yell of triumph, the hero pulled the
string, — and nothing happened !
But there was another side to all this. Mc-
Knutt some time afterwards came in with an
interesting story. Some Sappers, he said, had
been digging under a house in the village, pre-
sumably for the mysterious reasons that always
drive the Engineers to dig in unlikely places.
One of them pushed his shovel into what had
been the cellar of the house, but as the roof had
fallen in on the entrance, they did not know of
its existence. When they finally forced their
way in, they found two German officers and
two Frenchwomen in a terribly emaciated con-
dition. One of the Boches and one of the women
lay dead, locked in each other's arms. The
other two still breathed, but when they were
brought up into the open they expired within a
few hours without either of them giving an ex-
planation. The only reason we could find for
their terrible plight was that the women had
been forced down there by the officers to un-
dergo a last farewell, while the Germans were
destroying the village, and that the house had
58
Moving Up the Line
fallen in on top of them. Later, probably no
one knew where they had disappeared, and they
were unable to get out of the ruins or to
make themselves heard. The village of A
gained a romantic reputation after that, and it
was curious to realize that we had been living
there for days while this silent tragedy was be-
ing enacted.
In addition to the destruction in the towns,
the beautiful orchards which are so numerous
in France were ruined. Apple, pear, and plum
trees lay uprooted on the ground, and here
again the military mind of the German had
been at work. He did not wish the fruit that
the trees would bear in future to fall into our
hands.
But although the village was a pretty poor
place in which to stay, the near presence of a
B.E.F. Canteen was a comfort. It is always
amazing to visit one of these places. Within
perhaps four or five miles of the firing line we
have stores selling everything from a silver
cigarette case to a pair of boots, and every-
thing, too, at nearly cost price. The Canteen
59
Life in a Tank
provides almost every variety of smoking ma-
terials, and eatables, and their only disadvan-
tage is that they make packages from home
seem so useless. As the tobaccos come straight
out of bond, it is far cheaper to buy them at
the Canteen, than to have them forwarded
from home. These Canteens are managed by
the Army, and are dotted all over the country
inhabited by the British troops. Since they
have sprung into existence life at the front
has been far more comfortable and satisfactory
in France, and people at home are discovering
that money is the best thing to send out to
their men.
Finally, one cold, sunny morning, about half-
past five, the tank train steamed slowly into
A , and drew up on a siding. It was not
possible to begin the work of unloading the
tanks until night fell. So the tired crews turned
into the roofless houses which had been pre-
pared for them, and slept until dusk. When
darkness fell, as if by magic, the town sprang
to activity.
V
PREPARATIONS FOR THE SHOW
THAT night the engines were started up, and
one by one the tanks crawled off the train.
Although the day had begun with brilliant
sunshine, at dusk the snow had begun to fall,
and by the time the tanks came off, the snow
was a foot thick on the ground. The tanks
moved down to the temporary tankdrome
which had been decided upon near the rail-
way, and the sponson trucks were towed there.
The night was spent in fitting on the sponsons
to the sides of the machines. It was bitterly
cold. The sleet drove in upon us all night,
stinging our hands and faces. Everything
seemed to go wrong. We had the utmost dif-
ficulty in making the bolt-holes fit, and as each
sponson weighs about three tons they were not
easy to move and adjust. We drove ahead
with the work, knowing that it must be done
while the darkness lasted.
61
Life in a Tank
Finally, about two hours before dawn broke,
the last bolt was fastened, and the tanks were
ready to move. The night was blacker than
ever as they lumbered out of the tankdrome,
and were led across the snow to a halfway
house about four miles from the railhead, and
an equal distance from the front-line trenches.
We had not quite reached our destination
when the darkness began to lift in the east,
and with feverish energy we pushed ahead,
through the driving snow.
Late that afternoon, Talbot was again sent
ahead with five or six troopers and orderlies to
a village in the front line. It was necessary
for us to spend three or four days there before
the attack commenced, in order to study out
the vulnerable points in the German line. We
were to decide also the best routes for the
tanks to take in coming up to the line, and
those to be taken later in crossing No Man's
Land when the "show" was on. We rode along
across fields denuded of all their trees. The
country here was utterly unlike that to which
we had been accustomed in "peace-time trench
62
Preparations for the Show
warfare." This last expression sounds like an
anomaly, but actually it means the life which
is led in trenches where one may go along for
two or three months without attacking. In
comparison with our existence when we are
making an offensive, the former seems like life
in peace times. Hence, the expression. But
from this it must not be supposed that "peace-
time trench warfare" is all beer and skittles.
Quite the contrary. As a matter of fact, dur-
ing four or five days in the trenches there may
be as many casualties as during an attack,
but taking it on an average, naturally the losses
and dangers are greater when troops go over
the top. Curiously enough, too, after one has
been in an attack the front-line trench seems
a haven of refuge. Gould, who was wounded
in the leg during a battle on the Somme,
crawled into a shell-hole. It was a blessed re-
lief to be lying there, even though the bullets
were whistling overhead. At first he felt no
pain, and he wished, vaguely, that he had
brought a magazine along to read! All through
the burning summer day he stayed there, wait-
63
Life in a Tank
ing for the night. As soon as it was dark he
wriggled back to our trenches, tumbled over
the parapet of the front-line trench, and nar-
rowly escaped falling on the point of a bayonet.
But he never forgets the feeling of perfect
safety and peace at being back, even in an ex-
posed trench, with friends.
The fields across which we rode had been
ploughed the preceding autumn by the French
civilians. Later, when the snow had disap-
peared, we could see where the ground had been
torn up by the horses of a German riding-school
of ten days before. On some of the roads the
ruts and heavy marks of the retreating Ger-
man transports could still be seen. It was a
new and exciting experience to ride along a
road which only two or three days before had
been traversed by the Germans in a retreat,
even though they called it a "retirement."
The thought was very pleasant to men who,
for the last two years, had been sitting in front
of the Boche month after month, and who,
even in an attack, had been unable to find
traces of foot, hoof, or wheel mark because of
64
Preparations for the Show
the all-effacing shell-fire. Here and there were
places where the Boche had had his watering-
troughs, and also the traces of scattered huts
and tents on the ground where the grass, of a
yellowish green, still showed. The front line of
defence here was really no front line at all,
but was merely held as in open warfare by
outposts, sentry groups, and patrols.
At night it was the easiest thing in the world
to lose one's self close up to the line and wan-
der into the German trenches. In fact, over
the whole of this country, where every land-
mark had been destroyed and where owing to
the weather the roads were little different from
the soil on each side, a man could lose himself
and find no person or any sign to give him his
direction. The usual guide which one might
derive from the Verey lights going up between
the lines was here non-existent, as both sides
kept extremely quiet. Even the guns were
comparatively noiseless in these days, and
were a man to find himself at night alone upon
this ground, which lay between two and three
miles behind our own lines, the only thing he
65
Life in a Tank
could do would be to lie down and wait for the
dawn to show him the direction.
As we rode toward O our only guide
was a few white houses two or three miles away
on the edge of the village. The German had
not evacuated O of his own free will, but
a certain "Fighting Division" had taken the
village two days before and driven the Ger-
man out, when he retired three or four hun-
dred yards farther to his rear Hindenburg
Line. The probable reason why he hung on
to this village, which was really in front of his
line of advance, was because at the time he
decided to retire on the Somme, the Hinden-
burg Line was incomplete. In fact, the Boche
could still be seen working on his wire and
trenches.
We arrived in O at nightfall. Some bat-
teries were behind the village, and the Germans
were giving the village and the guns a rather
nasty time. Unhappily for us, the Boche ar-
tillery were dropping five-nine's on the road
which led into the village, and as they seemed
unlikely to desist, we decided to make a dash
66
Preparations for the Show
for it. The horses were a bit nervous, but be-
having very well under the trying circum-
stances. (With us were some limbers bringing
up ammunition.) Shells were exploding all
around us. It would never do to stand still.
The dash up that hundred yards of road
was an unpleasant experience. As we made
the rush, the gunners tearing along "hell for
leather" and the others galloping ahead on
their plunging horses, we heard the dull whistle
and the nearer roar of two shells approaching.
Instinctively we leaned forward. We held our
breath. When a shell drops near, there is al-
ways the feeling that it is going to fall on one's
head. We flattened ourselves out and urged
our horses to greater speed. The shells exploded
about thirty yards behind us, killing two gun-
ners and their mules, while the rest of us scram-
bled into the village and under cover.
In the darkness, we found what had once
been the shop of the village blacksmith, and
in the forge we tied up our horses. It was bit-
terly cold. It was either make a fire and trust
to luck that it would not be observed, or freeze.
67
Life in a Tank
We decided on the fire, and in its grateful
warmth we lay down to snatch the first hours
of sleep we had had in nearly three days. But
the German gunners were most inconsiderate,
and a short time afterward they dropped a
small barrage down the road. The front of
our forge was open, and we were obliged to
flatten ourselves on the ground to prevent the
flying splinters from hitting us. When this
diversion was over, we stirred up our fire, and
made some tea, just in time to offer some to
a gunner sergeant who came riding up. He
hitched his horse to one of the posts, and sat
down with us by the fire. The shell-fire had
quieted down, and we dozed off, glad of the
interlude. Suddenly a shell burst close beside us.
The poor beast, waiting patiently for his rider,
was hit in the neck by the shrapnel, but hardly
a sound escaped him. In war, especially, one
cannot help admiring the stoicism of horses, as
compared with other animals. One sees ex-
amples of it on all sides. Tread, for instance,
on a dog's foot, and he runs away, squealing.
A horse is struck by a large lump of shrapnel
68
Preparations for the Show
just under its withers, and the poor brute
trembles, but makes no sound. Almost the
only time that horses scream — and the sound
is horrible — is when they are dying. Then
they shriek from sheer pain and fear. Strange
as it may seem, one is often more affected by
seeing horses struck than when men are killed.
Somehow they seem so particularly helpless.
It was during these days at O that
Talbot discovered Johnson. Johnson was one
of his orderlies. Although it did not lie in
the path of his duty, he took the greatest
delight in doing all sorts of little odd jobs for
Talbot. So unobtrusive he was about it all,
that for some time Talbot hardly noticed that
some one was trying to make him comfort-
able. When he did, by mutual agreement
Johnson became his servant and faithful fol-
lower through everything. The man was per-
fectly casual and apparently unaffected by the
heaviest shell-fire. It is absurd to say that a
man "doesn't mind shell-fire." Everyone
dislikes it, and gets nervous under it. The man
who "does n't mind it" is the man who fights
Life in a Tank
his nervousness and gets such control of him-
self that he is able to appear as if he were
unaffected. Between "not minding it" and
"appearing not to mind it" lie hard-won moral
battles, increased strength of character, and
victory over fear. Johnson had accomplished
this. He preserved an attitude of careless calm,
and could walk down a road with shells burst-
ing all around him with a sublime indifference
that was inspiring. Between him and his of-
ficer sprang up an extraordinary and lasting
affection.
The wretched night in the forge at last came
to an end, and the next morning we looked
around for more comfortable billets. We
selected the cellar of a house in fairly good con-
dition and prepared to move in, when we dis-
covered that we were not the first to whom it
had appealed. Two dead Germans still oc-
cupied the premises, and when we had disposed
of the bodies, we took up our residence. Here
we stayed, going out each day to find the best
points from which to view No Man's Land,
which lay in front of the village. With the aid
70
Preparations for the Show
of maps, we planned the best routes for the
tanks to take when the battle should have be-
gun. Not a detail was neglected.
Then something happened to break the mo-
notony of life. Just back of the village one of
our batteries was concealed in such a fashion
that it was impossible to find it from an aero-
plane. Yet every day, regularly, the battery
was shelled. Every night under cover of the
darkness, the position was changed, and the
battery concealed as cleverly as before, but to
no avail. The only solution was that some one
behind our lines was in communication with
the Germans, every day. Secrecy was increased.
Guards were doubled to see that no one slipped
through the lines. Signals were watched. The
whole affair was baffling, and yet we could find
no clue.
Just in front of the wood where the battery
was concealed, stood an old farmhouse where a
genial Frenchwoman lived and dispensed good
cheer to us. She had none of the men of her own
family nor any farmhands to help her, but kept
up the farmwork all alone. Every day, usually
Life in a Tank
in the middle of the morning, she went out to
the fields behind her house and ploughed, with
an old white horse drawing the plough. For
some reason she never ploughed more than one
or two furrows at a time, and when this was
done, she drove the white horse back to the
barn. One day, an officer noticed that a
German plane hovered over the field while the
woman was ploughing, and that when she went
back to the house, the plane shot away. The
next day the same thing happened. Later in
the day, the battery received its daily reminder
from the Boche gunners, as unerringly accurate
as ever.
Here was a clue. The solution of the problem
followed. The woman knew the position of the
battery, and every day when she went out to
plough, she drove the white horse up and down,
making a furrow directly in front of the bat-
tery. When the men in the German plane saw
the white horse, they flew overhead, took a
photograph of the newly turned furrow, and
turned the photograph over to their gunners.
The rest was easy.
72
Preparations for the Show
The next day we missed three events which
had become part of our daily life. The German
plane no longer hovered in the air. Our battery,
for the first time in weeks, spent a peaceful day.
And in the field behind her house, a woman
with an old white horse no longer made the
earth ready for the sowing.
For three days now we had received no ra-
tions, and were obliged to subsist on the food
which the Boche had left behind him when he
fled. Finally, when all our plans were complete,
we were notified that the point of attack had
been shifted to N , a village about four
miles away. This practical joke we thought in
extremely bad taste, but there was nothing for
it but to pack up and move as quickly as possi-
ble. We learned that our troops at N had
tried twice to break through the German lines
by bombing. A third attempt was to be made,
and the tanks were depended upon to open the
way. Hence the change in our plans.
Early the next morning we left O , and
dashed along a road which lay parallel with our
73
Life in a Tank
line, and was under direct observation from the
German trenches. Owing to the fact, probably,
that he was not properly settled in his new line,
the Boche did not bother us much, excepting at
one place, where we were obliged to make a run
for it. We arrived at N just after the
tanks had been brought up. They were hur-
riedly concealed close up to houses, in cuttings,
and under trees.
The show was scheduled to come off the next
morning at 4.30. That night we gathered at
Brigade Headquarters and made the final plans.
Each tank had its objective allotted to it, and
marked out on the Tank Commander's course.
Each tank was to go just so far and no farther.
Talbot and Darwin were detailed to go for-
ward as far as possible on foot when the battle
was in progress, and send back messages as to
how the show was progressing. Talbot also
was given the task of going out that night to
make the marks in No Man's Land which
would guide the tanks in the morning.
At eleven o'clock, in the bright moonlight,
Talbot, with Johnson and a couple of orderlies,
^74
Preparations for the Show
started out. They climbed over the front line,
which was at present a railway embankment,
crawled into No Man's Land, and set to work.
Immediately the Boche snipers spotted them
and bullets began to whistle over their heads.
Luckily, no one was hit, but a couple of "whizz
bangs " dropped uncomfortably close. The men
dropped for cover. Only Johnson stood still,
his figure black against the white snow gleam-
ing in the moonlight.
The shells continued to fall about them as
they wriggled back when the work was done.
As they reached N the tanks were being
led up toward the lirie, so that later, under
cover of the darkness, they might be taken
farther forward to their starting-points.
VI
THE FIRST BATTLE
AT dawn the next morning, the tanks were
already lined up, sullen and menacing in the
cold half-light. The men shivered in the biting
air. One by one the crews entered the machines,
and one by one the little steel doors closed
behind them. The engines throbbed, and they
moved off sluggishly.
Darwin and Talbot, with their orderlies,
waited impatiently. The moments just before
an attack are always the hardest. A few bat-
teries were keeping up a desultory fire. They
glanced at their watches.
" Only a minute to go," said Darwin. "I bet
the show 's put off or something. Is n't this
snow damnably cold, though!"
Suddenly a sixty-pounder in our rear crashed
out. Then from all sides a deafening roar
burst forth and the barrage began. As we be-
came accustomed to the intensity and ear-
76
The First Battle
splittingness of the sound, the bark of the
eighteen-pounders could be faintly distin-
guished above the dull roar of the eight-
inches. The sky-line was lit up with thousands
of flashes, large and small, each one showing,
for a second, trenches or trees or houses, and
during this tornado we knew that the "Willies "
must have started forward on their errand.
As the barrage lifted and the noise died down
a little, the first streaks of light began to show
in the sky, although we could distinguish noth-
ing. No sign of the infantry or of the tanks
could be seen. But the ominous sound of
machine guns and heavy rifle-fire told us that
the Boche was prepared.
We could stand this inactivity no longer.
We trudged forward through the snow, taking
the broad bands left by the tracks of the busses
as our guide, the officers leading the way and
the orderlies behind in single file.
"The blighter's starting, himself, now," said
Talbot, as a four- two landed a hundred yards
away, and pieces of earth came showering down
on our heads. Then another and another fell,
77
Life in a Tank
each closer than the one before, and instinc-
tively we quickened our steps, for it is difficult
to walk slowly through shell-fire.
The embankment loomed before us, and big
splotches of black and yellow leaped from its
surface. The deafening crashes gave us that
peculiar feeling in the stomach which danger
alone can produce. We scrambled up the
crumbling, slaggy sides, and found when we
reached the top that the sound of the machine
guns had died away, excepting on the extreme
left in front of B •, where the ordinary tap
of ones and twos had developed into a sharp
crackle of tens and twenties. By listening care-
fully one could feel, rather than hear, the more
intermittent bursts from the rifles.
"There's one, sir," shouted one of the order-
lies.
"Where?"
"Half-right and about five hundred yards
ahead."
By dint of straining, we discovered a little
animal — or so it looked — crawling forward on
the far side of the Hindenburg Line. Already
78
The First Battle
it was doing a left incline in accordance with its
instructions, so as to enfilade a communication
trench which ran back to N . The German
observer had spotted her. Here and there, on
each side of her, a column of dirt and snow rose
into the air. But the little animal seemed to
bear a charmed life. No harm came to her, and
she went calmly on her way, for all the world
like a giant tortoise at which one vainly throws
clods of earth.
As it grows lighter, we can now see others in
the distance. One is not moving — is it out of
action? The only motion on the whole land-
scape is that of the bursting shells, and the
tanks. Over the white snow in front of the
German wire, are dotted little black lumps.
Some crawl, some move a leg or an arm, and
some lie quite still. One who has never seen a
modern battle doubtless forms a picture of
masses of troops moving forward in splendid
formation, with cheering voices and gleaming
bayonets. This is quite erroneous. To an ob-
server in a post or in a balloon, no concerted
action is visible at all. Here and there a line or
79
Life in a Tank
two of men dash forward and disappear. A sin-
gle man or a small group of men wriggle across
the ground. That is all.
. "Well, they have n't got it in the neck as I
supposed," said Darwin. "Remarkably few
lying about. Let 's push on."
"All right," Talbot assented. "If you like."
We crawled over the top of the embankment
and continued down the side. About two hun-
dred yards to the left, we saw one of the tanks,
with her nose in the air. A little group of three
or four men were digging around her, frantically.
We rushed over to them, and found that the
Old Bird's 'bus had failed to get over a large
pit which lay in the middle of No Man's Land,
and was stuck with her tail in the bottom of the
ditch. Here occurred one of those extraordi-
nary instances of luck which one notices every-
where in a modern battle. The tank had been
there about ten minutes when the German gun-
ners had bracketed on her, and were dropping
five-nines, all of them within a radius of sev-
enty yards of the tank, and yet no one was
hurt. Finally, by dint of strenuous digging, she
80
The First Battle
started up and pulled herself wearily out of the
pit.
Suddenly, Darwin shouted: —
"Look here, you fellows! What are these
Boches doing?"
Looking up, we saw about forty or fifty
Germans stumbling over their own wire, and
running toward us as hard as they could go.
For a moment we thought it was the prelim-
inary step of a counter-attack, but suddenly we
discovered that they carried no arms and were
attempting to run with their hands above their
heads. At the same time something occurred
which is always one of the saddest sights in
war. One hears a great deal about the "horrors
of war" and the "horrors" of seeing men killed
on either side of one, but at the time there is
very little "horror" to it. One simply does n't
have time to pay any attention to it all. But
the sad part was that the German machine
gunners, seeing their men surrendering, opened
a furious fire on them. There they were, caught
from behind, and many of them dropped from
the bullets of their own comrades.
81
Life in a Tank
Twenty or thirty of them came straight on,
rushed up to the pit where the tank had come
to grief, and tumbled down into this refuge.
Evidently, they knew of the British passion
for souvenirs, for when our men surrounded
them, the Germans plucked wildly at their own
shoulder straps as if to entreat their captors
to take the shoulder straps instead of any-
thing else!
We gave two or three of the wounded Ger7
mans some cigarettes and a drink of water.
They "were then told to find their quickest way
to the rear. Like other German prisoners we
had seen, they went willingly enough. German
discipline obtains even after a man has been
made a prisoner. He obeys his captors with the
same docility with which he had previously
obeyed his own officers. Left to themselves,
and started on the right road, the prisoner will
plod along, their N.C.O.'s saluting the English
officers, and inquiring the way to the concen-
tration camp. When they find it, they usually
appear well pleased.
The Old Bird's tank moved on.
82
The First Battle
"I suppose everything's going all right," said
Talbot. " Suppose we move on and see if we
can get some information."
"Yes, or some souvenirs," Darwin replied
with a laugh.
We pushed on slowly. Three tanks which had
completed their job were coming back and
passed us. A little later we met some fellows
who were slightly wounded and asked them how
the battle was going. Every story was different.
The wounded are rarely able to give a correct
version of any engagement, and we saw that
no accurate information was to be gleaned
from these men.
We had been out now for an hour and a half
and still had no news to send back to Head-
quarters. We knew how hard it was for the
officers behind the lines, who had planned the
whole show, to sit hour after hour waiting for
news of their troops. The minutes are like hours.
"My God, Darwin, look!" Talbot cried.
"Something's happened to her. She's on fire!"
In the distance we saw one of our tanks
stuck in the German wire, which at that point
83
Life in a Tank
was about a hundred yards thick. Smoke was
belching from every porthole. A shell had regis-
tered a direct hit, exploding the petrol, and the
tank was on fire. We dashed forward toward her.
A German machine gun rattled viciously.
They had seen us. An instant later, the bullets
were, spattering around us, and we dropped flat.
One man slumped heavily and lay quite still.
By inches we crawled forward, nearer and
nearer to the blazing monster. Another ma-
chine gun snarled at us, and we slid into a shell-
hole for protection. Then, after a moment's
breathing space, we popped out and tried to
rush again. Another man stopped a bullet.
It was suicide to go farther. Into another
shell-hole we fell, and thought things over. We
decided to send a message, giving roughly the
news that the Hindenburg Line and N had
been taken. An orderly was given a message.
He crawled out of the shell-hole, ran a few
steps, dropped flat, wriggled along across the
snow, sprang to his feet, ran another few steps,
and so on until we lost sight of him.
A moment or two later we started across the
84
The First Battle
snow in a direction parallel with the lines. Be-
hind an embankment we came across a little
group of Australians at an impromptu dressing-
station. Some of them were wounded and the
others were binding up their wounds. We
watched them for a while and started on again.
We had gone about fifty yards when a shell
screeched overhead. We turned and saw it
land in the middle of the group we had just left.
Another shell burst close to us and huge clods
of earth struck us in the face and in the stom-
ach, knocking us flat and blinding us for the
moment. A splinter struck Talbot on his tin
hat, grazing his skin. Behind us one of the
orderlies screamed and we rushed back to him.
He had been hit below the knee and his leg was
nearly severed. We tied him up and managed
to get him back to the Australian aid-post.
Two of the- original four stretcher-bearers had
been blown up a few minutes before. But the
remaining two were carrying on with their work
as though nothing had happened. Here he was
bandaged and started on his way for the dress-
ing-station.
Life in a Tank
Far across the snow, we saw three more tanks
plodding back toward the rear. Little by little,
we gained ground until we reached a more
sheltered area where we could make greater
speed. We were feverishly anxious to know the
fate of the crew of the burning tank. "Whose
tank was it?" was on every tongue. We met
other wounded men being helped back; those
with leg wounds were being supported by others
less seriously wounded. They could tell us noth-
ing. They had been with the infantry and only
knew that two tanks were right on the other
side of the village.
A moment or two later, Talbot started run-
ning toward two men, one of whom was sup-
porting the other. The wounded man proved
to be the Sergeant of the tank we had seen on
fire. We hurried up to him. He was hurt in
the leg. So, instead of firing questions at him,
we kept quiet and accompanied him back to
the dressing-station.
Later we heard the tragic news that it was
Gould's tank that had burned up. None of us
talked much about it. It did not seem real.
86
The First Battle
They had got stuck in the German wire. A
crump had hit them and fired the petrol tank.
That was the end. Two men, the Sergeant and
another, escaped from the tank. The others
perished with it. We tried to comfort each
other by repeated assurances that they must
all have lost consciousness quickly from the
fumes of the petrol before they suffered from
fire. But it was small consolation. Every one
had liked Gould and every one would miss him.
We waited at Brigade Headquarters for the
others to return. A Tank Commander from
another Company was brought in, badly
wounded and looking ghastly, but joking with
every one, as they carried him along on a
stretcher. His tank had been knocked out and
they had saved their guns and gone on with
the infantry. He had been the last to leave the
tank, and as he had stepped out to the ground,
a shell exploded directly beneath him, taking
off both of his legs below the knee.
The last of the tanks waddled wearily in and
the work of checking-up began. All were ac-
counted for but two. Their fate still remains
8?
Life in a Tank
a secret. Our theory was that they had gone
too far ahead and had entered the village in
back of the German lines; that the infantry
had not been able to keep up with them, and
that they had been captured. Two or three
days afterwards an airman told us that he had
seen, on the day of the battle, two tanks far
ahead of the infantry and that they appeared
to be stranded. Weeks later we attacked at the
point where the tanks had been, and on some
German prisoners whom we took, we found
several photographs of these identical tanks.
Then one day, when we had stopped wonder-
ing about them, a Sergeant in our Company
received a letter from one of the crew of the
missing machines, saying that he was a prisoner
in Germany. But of the officers we have never
heard to this day.
We sat around wearily, waiting for the motor
lorries which were to take some of us back to
B . Years seemed to have been crowded
into the hours that had elapsed. Talbot glanced
at his watch. It was still only eight o'clock
in the morning. Again he experienced the feel-
88
The First Battle
ing of incredulity that comes to one who has
had much happen in the hours between dawn
and early morning and who discovers that the
day has but just begun. He had thought it
must be three o'clock in the afternoon, at least.
The lorries arrived eventually, and took those
who had no tanks, back to B . The others
brought the "Willies" in by the evening.
VII
THE SECOND BATTLE
TEN days had now elapsed since that day when
we had gone back to B with the officers and
men who had survived. We had enjoyed every
minute of our rest and once more were feeling
fit. The remainder of the Company had been
divided up into crews. The "Willies" them-
selves had had the best of care and attention.
Most important of all, to the childish minds
of that part of the British Army which we rep-
resented, we had given another concert which
had been an even greater success than the first.
The Old Bird and Berwick had excelled them-
selves. We were convinced that something was
wrong with a Government that would send two
such artists to the front! They should be at
home, writing "words and music" that would
live forever.
Toward the end of the week, plans for an-
other attack were arranged. This time it was
90
The Second Battle
to take place at C , about five miles north
of N . We were told that this was to be a
"big show" at last. Part of the Hindenburg
Line had been taken, and part was still in the
hands of the enemy. It had been decided,
therefore, that this sector of the line, and the
village behind it, must be captured. Our share
in the business consisted of a few tanks to work
with the infantry. Two of us went up three
days before to arrange the plans with the Divi-
sional Commander. We wandered up into the
Hindenburg Line as close as we could get to
the Boche, to see what the ground was like, and
to decide if possible on the routes for the tanks.
In the line were innumerable souvenirs. We
found the furniture that the Germans had taken
out of the villages on their retirement, and had
used to make their line more comfortable.
We found, too, an extraordinary piece of en-
gineering. A tunnel about ten miles long ran
underneath the whole of the Hindenburg Line.
It was about thirty or forty feet down, and had
been dug, we heard, by Russian prisoners. The
tunnel was about six feet wide and about five
Life in a Tank
feet high. It had been roughly balked in with
timber, and at every twenty yards, a shaft led
out of the tunnel up into the trench. Berwick
found a large mirror which he felt could not be
wasted under the circumstances. He could not
resist its charm, so he started lugging it back
the six miles to camp. It was very heavy and
its charm had decreased greatly by the time
he reached camp and found that no one could
make any use of it.
The day of the attack was still undecided,
and in order to be quite ready when it should
come off, we left B with the tanks one eve-
ning and took them up to Saint-L — — , a little
place about three thousand yards away from
the Hindenburg Line. Here we staged them
behind a railway embankment, underneath a
bridge that had been partially blown up. This
was the same embankment, as a matter of fact,
behind which, four or five miles away, the Aus-
tralian dressing-station had been established in
the last battle.
Here we spent two or three days tuning up
the machines, and many of our leisure moments
92
The Second Battle
in watching a howitzer battery which was just
beside us. This was fascinating. If you stand
by the gun when it is fired, you can see the shell
leave the muzzle, and watch the black mass
shoot its seven or eight thousand yards until
it becomes a small speck and finally vanishes
just before it hits the ground.
We also made an interesting collection of
German and English shell-cases. These cases
are made of brass, and the four-fives, espe-
cially, in the opinion of some people, make very
nice rose-bowls when they are polished, with
wire arranged inside to hold the blossoms.
Weird music could be heard issuing from our
dugout at times, when we gave an impromptu
concert, by putting several of these shell-cases
on a log of wood and playing elaborate tunes
on them with a bit of stone.
All this merry-making came to an end, though.
One day we received word that the attack was
to come off the next morning. Then began the
preparations in earnest and the day went with
a rush. At this part of the Hindenburg Line, it
was very easy to lose one's way, especially at
93
Life in a Tank
night. The tanks were scheduled to start
moving up at ten o'clock. Talbot and the
Old Bird, with several men, set out at about
eight, and arranged for marks to guide the
machines.
We had just reached a part of the Hinden-
burg Line which was now in our possession, and
were near an ammunition dump, when shells
began to fall around us. They were not near
enough to do us any harm, and we continued our
work, when one dropped into the ammunition
dump and exploded. In an instant the whole
dump was alight. It was like some terrible
and giant display of pyrotechnics. Gas shells,
Verey lights, and stink bombs filled the air
with their nauseous odors. Shells of all sizes
blew up and fell in steely splinters. The noise
was deafening. Cursing our luck, we waited
until it died down into a red, smouldering
mass, and then edged up cautiously to con-
tinue our work. By this time, Berwick's tank
came up, and he emerged, with a broad smile
on his face.
"Having a good time?" he asked genially.
94
The Second Battle
There was a frozen silence, excepting for his
inane laughter. He made a few more irritating
remarks which he seemed to think were very
funny, and then he disappeared inside his tank
and prepared to follow us. We had gone ahead
a couple of hundred yards when we heard bombs
exploding, and looking back we saw the tank
standing still, with fireworks going off under
one of her tracks. Presently the noise ceased,
and after waiting a moment we strolled back.
As we reached the tank, Borwick and the crew
came tumbling out, making the air blue with
their language. They had run over a box of
bombs, the only thing that had survived the
fire in the ammunition dump, and one of the
tracks was damaged. To repair it meant sev-
eral hours' hard work in the cold in unpleasant
proximity to the still smouldering dump. Over
Talbot's face spread a broad smile.
"Having a good time?" he asked pleasantly
of Borwick.
Infuriated growls were his only answer. He
moved on with his men, while Borwick and his
crew settled down to work.
95
Life in a Tank
The night was fortunately dark. They went
slowly forward and brought the route almost
up to within calling distance of the Germans.
The Verey lights, shattering the darkness over
No Man's Land, did not disclose them to the
enemy. Suddenly, a Boche machine gun me-
chanically turned its attentions toward the place
where they were working. With a tightening
of every muscle, Talbot heard the slow whisper
of the gun. As it turned to sweep the inter-
vening space between the lines, the whisper
rose to a shirring hiss. The men dropped to the
ground, flattening themselves into the earth.
But Talbot stood still. Now, if ever, was the
time when an example would count. If they
all dropped to the ground every time a machine
gun rattled, the job would never be done. So,
hands in his pockets, but with awful "wind
up," he waited while the soft patter of the
bullets came near and the patter quickened into
rain. As it reached him, the rain became a fierce
torrent, stinging the top of the parapet behind
them as the bullets tore by viciously a few
inches above his head. Then as it passed, it
96
The Second Battle
dropped into a patter once more and finally
dropped away in a whisper. Talbot suddenly
realized that his throat was aching, but that
he was untouched by the storm. The men
slowly got to their feet and continued their
work in silence. Although the machine gun con-
tinued to spatter bullets near them all through
the hours they were working, not once again
did the men drop when they heard the whisper
begin. The job was finally done and they filed
wearily back.
The attack was timed to come off at dawn.
An hour before, while it was still as black as
pitch, the tanks moved again for their final
starting-point. McKnutt's machine was the
first to go.
"Cheero, McKnutt," we said as he clam-
bered in. "Good luck!"
The men followed, some through the top and
some through the side. The doors and port-
holes were closed, and in a moment the exhaust
began to puff merrily. The tank crawled for-
ward and soon disappeared into the blackness.
She had about fifteen hundred yards to go,
97
Life in a Tank
parallel with the Hindenburg Line, and several
trenches to cross before coming up with the
enemy. We had planned that the tanks would
take about three quarters of an hour to reach
their starting-point, and that soon after they
arrived there, the show would begin.
Since it was still dark and the attack had
not commenced, McKnutt and his first driver
opened the windows in front of them. They
looked out into impenetrable gloom. It was
necessary to turn their headlights on, and with
this help, they crawled along a little more se-
curely. A signal from the driver, and they got
into top gear. She bumped along, over shell-
holes and mine-craters at the exhilarating speed
of about four miles an hour, and then arrived
at the first trench to be crossed. It was about
ten feet wide with high banks on each side.
"One up!" signals the driver. The gears-
men get into first gear, and the tank tilts back
as it goes up one side of the trench. Suddenly
she starts tipping over, and the driver takes
out his clutch and puts on his brake hard.
McKnutt yells out, "Hold tight!" and the
98
The Second Battle
tank slides gently down with her nose in the
bottom of the trench. The driver lets in his
clutch again, the tank digs her nose into the
other side and pulls herself up slowly, while
her tail dips down into the bottom of the
trench. Then comes the great strain as she
pulls herself bodily out of the trench until she
balances on the far side.
It was now no longer safe to run with lights.
They were snapped off. Once more the dark-
ness closed around them, blacker than ever.
They could no longer find their route, and Mc-
Knutt jumped out, walking ahead with the
tank lumbering along behind. Twice he lost
his way and they were obliged to wait until
he found it again. Then, to his intense relief,
the moon shone out with a feeble light. It was
just enough to illumine faintly the ground be-
fore them and McKnutt reentered the tank,
and started on.
Their route ran close to the sides of an old
quarry and they edged along cautiously. Mc-
Knutt, with his eyes glued to the front, decided
that they must have already passed the end of
99
Life in a Tank
the quarry. That would mean that they were
not far from the spot where they were to wait
for the signal to go into action. The moon had
again disappeared behind the clouds, but he
did not consider it worth while to get out again.
The journey would be over in a few minutes.
Suddenly, his heart took a great dive and
he seemed to stop breathing. He felt the tank
balance ever so slightly. Staring with aching
eyes through the portholes, he saw that they
were on the edge of the old quarry, with a forty-
foot drop down its steep sides before them.
The black depth seemed bottomless. The tank
was slipping over. When she shot down they
would all be killed from concussion alone.
His heart was pounding so that he could
hardly speak. But the driver, too, had seen
the danger.
"For God's sake, take out your clutch and
put your brake on! " McKnutt yelled, his voice
almost drowned by the rattle and roar inside
the tank. The man kept his head. As the tail
of the tank started tipping up, he managed
somehow with the brakes to hold her on the
100
The Second Battle
edge. For a second or two, she swayed there.
She seemed to be unable to decide whether to
kill them or not. The slightest crumbling of
the earth or the faintest outside movement
against the tank would precipitate them over
the edge. The brakes would not hold them for
long. Then the driver acted. Slowly he put his
gears in reverse, keeping the brake on hard un-
til the engine had taken up the strain. Slowly
she moved back until her tail bumped on the
ground, and she settled down. Neither Mc-
Knutt nor his driver spoke. They pushed back
their tin hats and wiped their foreheads.
McKnutt glanced back at the men in the
rear of the tank. They, of course, had been
unable to see out, and had no idea of what they
had escaped. Now that the danger was passed,
he felt an unreasonable annoyance that none
of them would ever know what he and the
driver had gone through in those few moments.
Then the feeling passed, he signalled, "Neutral
left," the gearsman locked his left track, and
the tank swung over, passing safely by the per-
ilous spot.
101
Life in a Tank
They settled down now to a snail's pace,
shutting off their engine, as the Germans could
not be more than one hundred and fifty or two
hundred yards away. Running at full speed,
the engine would have been heard by them. In
a few moments, they arrived at their appointed
station. McKnutt glanced at his watch. They
had only a few moments to wait. The engine
was shut off and they stopped.
The heat inside the tank was oppressive.
McKnutt and James opened the top, and
crawled out, the men following. They looked
around. The first streaks of light were begin-
ning to show in the sky. A heavy silence hung
over everything — the silence that always
precedes a bombardment. Presumably, only
the attacking forces feel this. Even the des-
ultory firing seems to have faded away. All
the little ordinary noises have ceased. It is a
sickening quiet, so loud in itself that it makes
one's heart beat quicker. It is because one is
listening so intensely for the guns to break out
that all other sounds have lost their signifi-
cance. One seems to have become all ears —
102
The Second Battle
to have no sense of sight or touch or taste or
smell. All seem to have become merged in
the sense of hearing. The very air itself seems
tense with listening. Only the occasional rat-
tle of a machine gun breaks the stillness. Even
this passes unnoticed.
Slowly the minute-hand crept round to the
half-hour, and the men slipped back into their
steel home. Doors were bolted and portholes
shut, save for the tiny slits in front of officer
and driver, through which they peered. The
engine was ready to start. The petrol was on
and flooding. They waited quietly. Their heavy
breathing was the only sound. The minute-
hand reached the half-hour.
I: With the crash and swish of thousands of
shells, the guns smashed the stillness. In-
stantly, the flash of their explosion lit up the
opposite trenches. For a fraction of a second
the thought came to McKnutt how wonderful
it was that man could produce a sound to which
Nature had no equal, either in violence or
intensity. But the time was for action and not
for reflection.
103
Life in a Tank
"Start her up!" yelled out McKnutt. '
But the engine would not fire.
"What the devil's the matter?" cried James.
A bit of tinkering with the carburetor, and the
engine purred softly. Its noise was drowned in
the pandemonium raging around them. James
let in the clutch, and the monster moved for-
ward on her errand of destruction.
Although it was not light enough to distin-
guish forms, the flashes of the shell-fire and
the bursts from the shrapnel lit up that part
of the Hindenburg Line that lay on the other
side of the barrier. One hundred and fifty
yards, and the tank was almost on top of the
barricade. Bombs were exploding on both
sides. McKnutt slammed down the shutters
of the portholes in front of him and his driver.
"Bullets," he said shortly.
"One came through, I think, sir," James
replied. With the portholes shut, there was no
chance for bullets to enter now through the
little pin-points directly above the slits in the
shutters. In order to see through these, it is
necessary to place one's eye directly against
104
The Second Battle
the cold metal. They are safe, for if a bullet
does hit them, it cannot come through, al-
though it may stop up the hole.
! Suddenly a dull explosion was heard on the
roof of the tank.
"They're bombing us, sir! " cried one of the
gunners. McKnutt signalled to him, and he
opened fire from his sponson. They plunged
along, amid a hail of bullets, while bombs
exploded all around them.
McKnutt and James, with that instinctive
sense of direction which comes to men who
control these machines, felt that they were
hovering on the edge of the German trench.
Then a sudden flash from the explosion of a
huge shell lit up the ground around them, and
they saw four or five gray-clad figures, about
ten yards away, standing on the parapet hys-
terically hurling bombs at the machine. They
might as well have been throwing pebbles.
Scornfully the tank slid over into the wide
trench and landed with a crash in the bottom.
For a moment she lay there without moving.
The Germans thought she was stuck. They
105
Life in a Tank
came running along thinking to grapple with
her. But they never reached her, for at once
the guns from both sides opened fire and the
Germans disappeared.
The huge machine dragged herself up the
steep ten-foot side of the trench. As she neared
the top, it seemed as if the engine would not
take the final pull. James took out his clutch,
put his brake on hard, and raced the engine.
Then letting the clutch in with a jerk, the tank
pulled herself right on to the point of balance,
and tipped slowly over what had been the
parapet of the German position.
Now she was in the wire which lay in front
of the trench. McKnutt signalled back, " Swing
round to the left," parallel to the lay of the
line. A moment's pause, and she moved for-
ward relentlessly, crushing everything in her
path, and sending out a stream of bullets
from every turret to any of the enemy who
dared to show themselves above the top of the
trench.
At the same time our own troops, who had
waited behind the barricade to bomb their way
1 06
The Second Battle
down, from traverse to traverse, rushed over the
heap of sandbags, tangled wire, wood, and dead
men which barred their way. The moral effect
of the tank's success, and the terror which she
inspired, cheered our infantry on to greater
efforts. The tank crew were, at the time, un-
aware of the infantry's action, as none of our
own men could be seen. The only indication
of the fact was the bursting of the bombs which
gradually moved from fire bay to fire bay.
The Corporal touched McKnutt on the arm.
"I don't believe our people are keeping up
with us, sir," he said. "They seem to have
been stopped about thirty yards back."
"All right," McKnutt answered. "We'll
turn round."
McKnutt and James opened their portholes
to obtain a clearer view. Five yards along to
the left, a group of Germans were holding
up the advancing British. They had evidently
prepared a barricade in case of a possible
bombing attack on our part, and this obstacle,
together with a fusillade of bombs which met
them, prevented our troops from pushing on.
107
Life in a Tank
McKnutt seized his gun and pushed it through
the mounting, but found that he could not
swing round far enough to get an aim on the
enemy. But James was in a better position.
He picked the gray figures off, one by one, until
the bombing ceased and our own men jumped
over the barricade and came down among the
dead and wounded Germans.
Then a sudden and unexplainable sense of
disaster caused McKnutt to look round. One
of his gunners lay quite still on the floor of the
tank, his back against the engine, and a stream
of blood trickling down his face. The Corporal
who stood next to him pointed to the sights in
the turret and then to his forehead, and Mc-
Knutt realized that a bullet must have slipped
in through the small space, entering the man's
head as he looked along the barrel of his gun.
There he lay, along one side of the tank between
the engine and the sponson. The Corporal tried
to get in position to carry on firing with his own
gun, but the dead body impeded his movements.
There was only one thing to do. The Cor-
poral looked questioningly at McKnutt and
108
The Second Battle
pointed to the body. The officer nodded
quickly, and the left gearsman and the Corporal
dragged the body and propped it up against the
door. Immediately the door flew open. The
back of the corpse fell down and half the body
lay hanging out, with its legs still caught on
the floor. With feverish haste they lifted the
legs and threw them out, but the weight of the
body balanced them back again through the
still open door. The men were desperate. With
a tremendous heave they turned the dead man
upside down, shoved the body out and slammed
the door shut. They were just in time. A bomb
exploded directly beneath the sponson, where
the dead body had fallen. To every man in the
tank came a feeling of swift gratitude that
the bombs had caught the dead man and not
themselves.
They ploughed across another trench with-
out dropping into the bottom, for it was only
six feet wide. Daylight had come by now and
the enemy was beginning to find that his brave
efforts were of no avail against these monsters
of steel.
109
Life in a Tank
All this time the German guns had not been
silent. McKnutt's tank crunched across the
ground amid a furious storm of flying earth and
splinters. The strain was beginning to be felt.
Although one is protected from machine-gun
fire in a tank, the sense of confinement is, at
times, terrible. One does not know what is hap-
pening outside his little steel prison. One often
cannot see where the machine is going. The
noise inside is deafening; the heat terrific.
Bombs shatter on the roof and on all sides.
Bullets spatter savagely against the walls.
There is an awful lack of knowledge; a feeling
of blind helplessness at being cooped up. One
is entirely at the mercy of the big shells. If a
shell hits a tank near the petrol tank, the men
may perish by fire, as did Gould, without a
chance of escape. Going down with your ship
seems pleasant compared to burning up with
your tank. In fighting in the open, one has, at
least, air and space.
McKnutt, however, was lucky. They could
now see the sunken road before them which
was their objective. Five-nines were dropping
no
The Second Battle
around them now. It was only a matter of mo-
ments, it seemed, when they would be struck.
"Do you think we shall make it?" McKnutt
asked James.
"We may get there, but shall we get back?
That's the question, sir."
McKnutt did not answer. They had both
had over two years' experience of the accuracy
of the German artillery. And they did not
believe in miracles. But they had their orders.
They must simply do their duty and trust to
luck.
They reached the sunken road. The tank was
swung around. Their orders were to reach their
objective and remain there until the bombers
arrived. McKnutt peered out. No British were
in sight, and he snapped his porthole shut.
Grimly they settled down to wait.
The moments passed. Each one seemed as
if it would be their last. Would the infantry
never come? Would there be any sense in just
sitting there until a German shell annihilated
them if the infantry never arrived ? Had they
been pushed back by a German rush? Should
in
Life in a Tank
he take it upon himself to turn back? Mc-
Knutt's brain whirled.
Then, after hours, it seemed, of waiting,
around the corner of a traverse, he saw one of
'the British tin hats. Nothing in the world
could have been a happier sight. A great wave
of relief swept over him. Three or four more
appeared. Realizing that they, too, had reached
their objective, they stopped and began to
throw up a rough form of barricade. More men
poured in. The position was consolidated, and
there was nothing more for the tank to do.
They swung round and started back. Two
shells dropped about twenty yards in front
of them. For a moment McKnutt wondered
whether it would be well to change their di-
rection. "No, we'll keep right on and chance
it," he said aloud. The next moment a tre-
mendous crash seemed to lift the tank off the
ground. Black smoke and flying particles filled
the tank. McKnutt and James looked around
expecting to see the top of the machine blown
off. But nothing had happened inside, and no
one was injured. Although shells continued to
112
The Second Battle
fall around them and a German machine gun
raged at them, they got back safely.
Brigade Headquarters, where McKnutt re-
ported, was full of expectancy. Messages were
pouring in over the wires. The men at the tele-
phones were dead beat, but cool and collected.
"Any news of the other 'busses ?" McKnutt
asked eagerly. The Buzzers shook their heads
wearily. He rushed up to a couple of men who
were being carried to a dressing-station.
"Do you fellows know how the tanks made
out?" he asked.
One of them had seen two of the machines on
the other side of the German line, he said. In
answer to the questions which were fired at
him he could only say that the tanks had pushed
on beyond the German front line.
Then on the top of the hill, against the sky-
line, they saw a little group of three or four
men. James recognized them.
"Why, there's Sergeant Browning and Mr.
Berwick, sir," he said. "What's happened to
their tank, I wonder?" He and McKnutt
hurried over to meet them.
"3
Life in a Tank
Berwick smiled coolly.
"Hullo!" he said in his casual manner.
"What's happened to your 'bus?" "What
did you do?" was fired at him.
"We got stuck in the German wire, and the
infantry got ahead of us," he said. "We pushed
on, and fell into a nest of three machine guns.
They could n't hurt us, of course, and the Boches
finally ran away. We knocked out about ten
of them, and just as we were going on and were
already moving, we suddenly started twisting
around in circles. What do you think had hap-
pened ? A trench mortar had got us full in one
of our tracks, and the beastly thing broke. So
we all tumbled out and left her there."
"Didn't you go on with the infantry?"
asked McKnutt.
"No. They'd reached their objective by that
time," Berwick replied, "so we saved the tank
guns, and I pinched the clock. Then we strolled
back, and here we are," he concluded.
Talbot joined the group as he finished.
"But where 's the rest of your crew ? " he asked.
Borwick said quietly: "Jameson and Cor-
114
The Second Battle
poral Fiske got knocked out coming back."
He lit a cigarette and puffed at it.
There was silence for a moment.
Then Talbot said, "Bad luck; have you got
their pay-books?"
"No, I forgot them," Borwick answered.
But his Sergeant handed over the little brown
books which were the only tangible remains of
two men who had gone into action that morn-
ing. The pay-books contained two or three
pages on which were jotted down their pay,
with the officer's signature. They had been
used as pocket-books, and held a few odd letters
which the men had received a few days before.
Talbot had often been given the pay-books of
men in his company who were killed, but he
never failed to be affected when he discovered
the letters and little trifles which had meant so
much to the men who had carried them, and
which now would mean so much to those whom
they had left behind.
In silence they went back to McKnutt's tank
and sat down, waiting for news. Scraps of in-
formation were beginning to trickle in.
Life in a Tank
"Have gained our objective in X Wood.
Have not been counter-attacked."
"Cannot push on owing to heavy machine-
gun fire from C ."
"Holding out with twenty men in trench
running north from Derelict Wood. Can I have
reinforcements ? "
These were the messages pouring in from
different points on the lines of attack. Some-
times the messages came in twos and threes.
Sometimes there were minutes when only a
wild buzzing could be heard and the men at
the telephones tried to make the buzzing in-
telligible.
The situation cleared up finally, however.
Our troops had, apparently, gained their ob-
jectives along the entire line to the right. On
the left the next Brigade had been hung up
by devastating machine-gun fire. As McKnutt
and Talbot waited around for news and fresh
orders, one of their men hurried down and
saluted.
He brought the news that the other three
tanks had returned, having reached their ob-
116
The Second Battle
jectives. Two had but little opposition and the
infantry had found no difficulty in gaining their
points of attack. The third tank, however, had
had three men wounded at a "pill-box." These
pill-boxes are little concrete forts which the
German had planted along his line. The walls
are of ferro concrete, two to three feet thick.
As the tank reached the pill-box, two Germans
slipped out of the rear door. Three of the tank
crew clambered down and got inside the pill-
box. In a moment the firing from inside ceased,
and presently the door flew open. Two British
tank men, dirty and grimy, escorting ten Ger-
mans, filed out. The Germans had their hands
above their heads, and when ordered to the
rear they went with the greatest alacrity. One
of the three Englishmen was badly wounded;
the other two were only slightly injured, but
they wandered down to the dressing-station,
with the hope that "Blighty" would soon
welcome them.
Although Talbot had his orders to hold the
tanks in readiness in case they were needed, no
necessity arose, and after a few hours' waiting,
117
Life in a Tank
the Major sent word to him to start the tanks
back to the embankment, there to be kept for
the next occasion. Better still, the men were to
be taken back to B in the motor lorries,
just as they had been after the first battle.
Water, comparative quiet, blankets, — these
were the luxuries that lay before them.
As he sat crowded into the swaying motor
lorry that lurched back along the shell-torn
road to B , Talbot slipped his hand into
his pocket. He touched a cheque-book, a pack-
age of cigarettes, and a razor. Then he smiled.
They were the final preparations he had made
that morning before he went into action. After
all he had not needed them, but one never could
tell, one might be taken prisoner. One needed
no such material preparations against the pos-
sibility of death, but a prisoner — that was
different.
The cheque-book had been for use in a pos-
sible gray prison camp in the land of his ene-
mies. Cheques would some time or other reach
his English bank and his people would know
that he was, at least, alive. The cigarettes were
118
The Second Battle
to keep up his courage in the face of whatever
disaster might befall him.
And the razor? Most important of all.
The razor was to keep, bright and untar-
nished, the traditions and prestige of the
British Army!
VIII
REST AND DISCIPLINE
WE stayed in that region of the Front for a few
more weeks, preparing for any other task that
might be demanded of us. One day the Bat-
talion received its orders to pack up, to load
the tanks that were left over, and to be ready
for its return to the district in which we had
spent the winter.
We entrained on a Saturday evening at A ,
and arrived at St.-P at about ten o'clock
on Sunday night. From there a twelve-mile
march lay before us to our old billets in B .
As may well be imagined, the men, though
tired, were in high spirits. We simply ate up
the distance, and the troops disguised their
fatigue by singing songs. There were two
which appeared to be favorites on this occa-
sion.
One, to the tune of "The Church's One
Foundation," ran as follows : —
120
Rest and Discipline
"We are Fred Karno's * Army,
The ragtime A.S.C.,2
We cannot work, we do not fight,
So what ruddy use are we?
And when we get to Berlin,
The Kaiser he will say,
Hoch, hoch, mein Gott!
What a ruddy rotten lot,
Is the ragtime A.S.C."
The other was a refrain to the tune of a
Salvation Army hymn, "When the Roll is
called up Yonder": —
"When you wash us in the water,
That you washed your dirty daughter,
Oh! then we will be much whiter!
We'll be whiter than the whitewash on the wall."
Eventually the companies arrived in the
village at all hours of the morning. No one
was up. We saw that the men received their
meals, which had been prepared by the cooks
who had gone ahead in motor lorries. They
did not spend much time over the food, for in
less than half an hour "K" billets — the same
Hospice de Ste. Berthe — were perfectly quiet.
1 A late, third-rate English pantomime producer.
2 Stands for Army Service Corps, and its equivalent in
the American Army is the Quartermaster's Corps.
121
Life in a Tank
We then wandered away with our servants, to
be met at each of our houses by hastily clad
landladies, with sleep in their eyes and smok-
ing lamps or guttering candles in their hands.
The next morning the Company paraded at
half-past nine, and the day was spent in re-
forming sections, in issuing new kits to the
men, and in working the rosters for the various
courses. On Tuesday, just as breakfast was
starting, an orderly brought a couple of memo-
randums from Battalion Orderly Room for
McKnutt and Berwick.
No one watched them read the chits, but
Talbot, glancing up from his plate, saw a look
on Berwick's face. It was a look of the purest
joy.
"What is it?" he said.
"Leave, my God!" replied Borwick; "and
McKnutt 's got it too."
"When are you going? To-day?" shouted
the Old Bird.
"Yes; there's a car to take us to the station
in a quarter of an hour."
They both left their unfinished breakfasts
122
Rest and Discipline
and tore off to their billets. There it was but
a matter of moments to throw a few things into
their packs. No one ever takes any luggage
when going on leave. They tore back to the
mess to leave instructions for their servants,
and we strolled out en masse to see the lucky
fellows off.
The box-body drew away from where we
were standing. We watched it grow smaller
and smaller down the long white road, and
turned back with regrets and pleasure in our
hearts. With regrets, that we ourselves were
not the lucky ones, and knowing that for some
of us leave would never come; with pleasure,
because one is always glad that a few of the
deserving reap a small share of their reward.
Then, strolling over to the Parade Ground,
we heard the "Five Minutes" sounding. Some
dashed off to get their Sam Brownes, others
called for their servants to wipe a few flecks of
dust from their boots and puttees.
When the "Fall In" began, the entire Com-
pany was standing "At Ease" on the Parade
Ground. As the last note of the call sounded,
123
Life in a Tank
the whole parade sprang to "Attention," and
the Major, who had been standing on the edge
of the field, walked forward to inspect.
Every morning was spent in this manner,
except for those who had special courses to
follow. We devoted all our time and attention
to "Forming Fours" in as perfect a manner as
possible; to saluting with the greatest accuracy
and fierceness; and to unwearying repetition
of every movement and detail, until machine-
like precision was attained.
All that we were doing then is the very
foundation and essence of good discipline. Dis-
cipline is the state to which a man is trained,
in order that under all circumstances he shall
cany out without secondary reasoning any
order that may be given him by a superior.
There is nothing of a servile nature in this form
of obedience. Each man realizes that it is for
the good of the whole. By placing his implicit
confidence in the commands of one of a higher
rank than his own, he gives an earnest of his
ability to himself command at some future
time. It is but another proof of the old adage,
124
Rest and Discipline
that the man who obeys least is the least fitted
to command.
When this war started, certain large forma-
tions, with the sheer lust for fighting in their
blood, did not, while being formed, realize the
absolute necessity of unending drill and in-
spection. Their first cry was, "Give us a
rifle, a bayonet, and a bomb, show us how to
use them, and we will do the rest." Acting
upon this idea, they flung themselves into bat-
tle, disregarding the iron rules of a preliminary
training. At first their very impetus and cour-
age carried them over incredible obstacles.
But after a time, and as their best were killed
off, the original blaze died down, and the steady
flame of ingrained discipline was not there
to take the place of burning enthusiasm. The
terrible waste and useless sacrifice that ensued
showed only too plainly that even the great-
est individual bravery is not enough.
In this modern warfare there are many trials
and experiences unimagined before, which
wear down the actual will-power of the men
who undergo them. When troops are forced
125
Life in a Tank
to sit in a trench under the most terrific shell-
fire, the nerve-racking noise, the sight of their
comrades and their defences being blown to
atoms, and the constant fear that they them-
selves will be the next to go, all deprive the
ordinary mind of vital initiative. Having lost
the active mental powers that a human being
possesses, they are reduced to the level of ma-
chines. The officers and non-commissioned
officers, on whom the responsibility of leader-
ship rests, have that spur to maintain their
equilibrium, but the private soldiers, who have
themselves only to think of, are the most open
to this devastating influence. If these machines
are to be controlled, as they must be, by an
exterior intelligence, they must obey automati-
cally, and if in the past automatic obedience
has not been implanted, there is nothing to take
its place.
The only means by which to obtain inherent
response to a given order is so to train a man
in minute details, by constant, inflexible insist-
ence on perfection, that it becomes part of his
being to obey without thinking.
126
Rest and Discipline
It must not be presumed that, in obtaining
this almost inhuman reaction, all independent
qualities are obliterated. For, though a man's
mind is adjusted to carrying out, without ques-
tioning, any task that is demanded of him, yet
in the execution of this duty he is allowed the
full scope of his invention and initiative.
Thus, by this dull and unending routine, we
laid the foundation of that inevitable success
toward which we were slowly working.
When the Company dismissed, the Major,
Talbot, and the Old Bird walked over to lunch
together.
"Well, it's a great war, is n't it?" said the
Major, turning to the other two.
"It's very nice to have got through a couple
of shows, sir," replied Talbot. "What do you
think about it, Old Bird?"
"Well, of course, war is all very well for
those who like it. But give me the Base every
time," answered the Old Bird, true to his rep-
utation. Then, turning to the Major with his
most ingratiating smile, he said, "By the way,
sir, what about a few days in Boulogne?"
IX
A PHILOSOPHY OF WAR
IT has often been observed that if this war is
to end war for all time, and if all the sacrifices
and misery and suffering will help to prevent
any recurrence of them, then it is well worth
while.
In these days of immediate demands and
quick results, this question is too vague and
too far-reaching to bring instant consolation.
Apart from that, too, it cannot decide whether
any war, however great, can ever abolish the
natural and primitive fighting instinct in man.
The source from which we must draw the
justification for our optimism lies much nearer
to hand. We must regard the effect that war-
ring life has already produced upon each indi-
vidual member of the nations who are and who
are not engaged in it.
At the very heart of it is the effect on the
man who is actually fighting. Take the case
128
A Philosophy of War
of him who before the war was either working
in a factory, who was a clerk in a business
house, or who was nothing at all beyond the
veriest loafer and bar-lounger. To begin with,
he was perhaps purely selfish. The foundation
of his normal life was self-protection. Whether
worthless or worthy, whether hating or re-
specting his superiors, the private gain and
comfort for himself and his was the object of
his existence. He becomes a soldier, and that
act alone is a conversion. His wife and chil-
dren are cared for, it is true; but he himself, for
a shilling a day, sells to his country his life, his
health, his pleasures, and his hopes for the
future. To make good measure he throws in
cheerfulness, devotion, philosophy, humour,
and an unfailing kindness. One man, for in-
stance, sells up three grocery businesses in the
heart of Lancashire, an ambition which it has
taken him ten years to accomplish. Without
a trace of bitterness he divorces himself from
the routine of a lifetime, and goes out to France
to begin life again at the very bottom of a new
ladder. He who for years had many men under
129
Life in a Tank
him is now under all, and receives, unquestion-
ingly, orders which in a different sphere he had
been accustomed to give. Apart from the mere
letter of obedience and discipline he gains a
spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice, which turns
the bare military instrument into a divine
virtue. He may, for instance, take up the duties
of an officer's servant. Immediately he throws
himself whole-heartedly into a new form of
selfless generosity, which leads him to a thou-
sand ways of care and forethought, that even
the tenderest woman could hardly conceive.
The man who receives this unwavering devo-
tion can only accept it with the knowledge that
no one can deserve it, and that it is greater gain
to him who gives than to him who takes.
What life of peace is there that produces this
god-like fibre in the plainest of men ? Why, in-
deed, is it produced in the life of war? It is
because in war sordidness and petty worries are
eliminated; because the one great and ever-
present fear, the fear of death, reduces all other
considerations to their proper values. The ac-
tual fear of death is always present, but this
130
A Philosophy of War
fear itself cannot be sordid when men can
meet it of their own free will and with the most
total absence of cringing or of cowardice.
In commercial rivalry a man will sacrifice
the friend of years to gain a given sum, which
will insure him increased material comforts.
In war a man will deliberately sacrifice the life
for which he wanted those comforts, to save
perhaps a couple of men who have no claim on
him whatsoever. He who before feared any
household calamity now throws himself upon
a live bomb, which, even though he might es-
cape himself, will without his action kill other
men who are near it. This deed loses none of
its value because of the general belief among
soldiers that life is cheap. Other men's lives
are cheap. One's own life is always very dear.
One of the most precious results has been the
resurrection of the quality of admiration. The
man who before the war said, "Why is he my
master?" is now only too glad to accept a
leader who is a leader indeed. He has learned
that as his leader cannot do without him, so
he cannot do without his leader, and although
Life in a Tank
each is of equal importance in the scheme of
affairs, their positions in the scheme are differ-
ent. He has learned that there is a higher
equality than the equality of class: it is the
equality of spirit.
This same feeling is reflected, more especially
among the leaders of the men, in the complete
disappearance of snobbishness. No such arti-
ficial imposition can survive in a life where
inherent value automatically finds its level;
where a disguise which in peace-time passed as
superiority, now disintegrates when in contact
with this life of essentials. For war is, above all,
a reduction to essentials. It is the touchstone
which proves the qualities of our youth's train-
ing. All those pleasures that formed the gamut
of a young man's life either fall away com-
pletely or find their proper place. Sport, games,
the open-air life, have taught him that high
cheerfulness, through failure or success, which
makes endurance possible. But the compli-
cated, artificial pleasures of ordinary times
have receded into a dim, unspoken background.
The wholesomeness of the existence that he
132
A Philosophy of War
now leads has taught him to delight in the
most simple and natural of things. This throw-
ing aside of the perversions and fripperies of
an over-civilization has forced him to regard
them with a disgust that can never allow him
to be tempted again by their inducements of
delight and dissipation. The natural, healthy
desires which a man is sometimes inclined to
indulge in are no longer veiled under a mask
of hypocrisy. They are treated in a perfectly
outspoken fashion as the necessary accompani-
ments to a hard, open-air life, where a man's
vitality is at its best. In consequence of this,
and as the result of the deepening of man's
character which war inevitably produces, the
sense of adventure and mystery which accom-
panied the fulfilment of these desires has dis-
appeared, and with it to a great extent the
desires themselves have assumed a far less
importance.
In peace, and especially in war, the young
man's creed is casualness. Not the casualness
of carelessness, but that which comes from the
knowledge that up to each given point he has
133
Life in a Tank
done his best. It is this fundamental peace of
mind which comes to a soldier that forms the
beauty of his life. The order received must be
obeyed in its exact degree, neither more nor
less; and the responsibility, though great, is
clearly defined. Each man must use his indi-
vidual intelligence within the scope of the part
assigned to him. The responsibility differs in
kind, but not in degree, and the last link of the
chain is as important as the first. There can
be no shirking or shifting, and, knowing this,
each task is finished, rounded out, and put
away. One might think that this made thought
mechanical : but it is mechanical only in so far
as each man's intelligence is concentrated on
his own particular duty, and each part work-
ing in perfect order contributes to the unison
through which the whole machine develops its
power. Thus the military life induces in men
a clearer and more accurate habit of thought,
and teaches each one to do his work well and
above all to do his own work only.
From this very simplicity of life, which brings
out a calmness of mind and that equable tem-
134
A Philosophy of War
perament that minor worries can no longer
shake, springs the mental leisure which gives
time for other and unaccustomed ideas. Men
who wittingly, time and again, have faced but es-
caped death, will inevitably begin to think what
death may mean. As the first lessons of obedi-
ence teach each man that he needs a leader to
pass through a certain crisis, so the crisis of
death, where man must pass alone, demands a
still higher Leader. With the admission that
no man is self-sufficient, that sin of pride,
which is the strongest barrier between a man
and his God, falls away. He is forced, if only
in self-defence, to recognize that faith in some
all-sufficient Power is the only thing that will
carry him through. If he could cut away the
thousand sins of thought, man would automati-
cally find himself at faith. It is the central
but often hidden point of our intelligence;
and although there are a hundred roads that
lead to it, they may be completely blocked.
The clean flame of the disciplined life burns
away the rubbish that chokes these roads, and
faith becomes a nearer and more constant thing.
135
Life in a Tank
The sadness of war lies in the loss of actual
personalities, but it is only by means of these
losses that this surrender can be attained.
It must not be thought that faith comes over-
night as a free gift. It is a long and slow process
of many difficult steps. There may be first the
actual literal crumbling, unknown in peace-
time, of one's solid surroundings, to be repeated
perhaps again and again until the old habit of
reliance upon them is uprooted. Then comes the
realization that this life at the front has but
two possible endings. The first is to be so dis-
abled that a man's fighting days are over. The
other is death. Instant death rather than a slow
death from wounds. Every man hopes for a
wound which will send him home to England.
That, however, is only a respite, as his return
to France follows upon his convalescence. The
other most important step is the loss of one's
friends. It is not the fact of actually seeing them
killed, for in the chaos and tumult of a battle
the mind hardly registers such impressions.
One's only feeling is the purely primitive one of
relief, that it is another and not one's self. It
136
A Philosophy of War
is only afterwards, when the excitement is over,
and a man realizes that again there is a space
of life, for him, but not for his friend, that the
loneliness and the loss are felt. He then says to
himself,' "Why am I spared when many better
men have gone?" At first resentment swallows
up all other emotions. In time, when this bit-
terness begins to pass, the belief that somehow
this loss is of some avail, carries him a little
farther on the road to faith. This all comes to
the man who before the war believed that the
world was made for his" pleasure, and who
treated life from that standpoint. All that he
wanted he took without asking. Now, all that
he has he gives without being asked.
Woman, too, gives more than herself. She
gives her men, her peace of mind and all that
makes her life worth living. The man after all
may have little hope, but while he is alive he
has the daily pleasures of health, vitality, ex-
citement, and a thousand interests. A woman
has but a choice of sorrows : the sorrow of un-
bearable suspense or the acceptance of the end.
Yet it needed this war to show again to
137
Life in a Tank
women what they could best do in life : to love
their men, bear their children, care for the sick
and suffering, and learn to endure. It has taught
them also to accept from man what he is able
or willing to give, and to admit a higher claim
than their own. They have been forced to put
aside the demands and exactions which they
felt before were their right, and to accept lone-
liness and loss without murmur or question.
A woman who loses her son loses the su-
preme reason of her existence; and yet the day
after the news has come, she goes back to her
work for the sons of other women. If she has
more sons to give she gives them, and faces
again the eternal suspense that she has lived
through before. The younger women, who in
times of peace would have looked forward to an
advantageous and comfortable marriage, will
now marry men whom they may never see
again after the ten days' honeymoon is over,
and will unselfishly face the very real possi-
bility of widowhood and lonely motherhood.
They have had to learn the old lesson that
work for others is the only cure for sorrow, and
138
A Philosophy of War
they have learned too that it is the only cure
for all those petty worries and boredoms which
assailed them in times of peace. If they have
learned this, then again one may say that war
is worth while.
What effect has the war had upon those coun-
tries who in the beginning were not engaged in
it? The United States, for instance, has for
three years been an onlooker. The people of
that country have had every opportunity to
view, in their proper perspectives, the feelings
and changes brought about among the men and
women of the combatant countries. At first,
the enormous casualties, the sufferings and the
sorrow, led them to believe that nothing was
worth the price they would have to pay, were
they to enter into the lists. For in the begin-
ning, before that wonderful philosophy of spirit
and cheerfulness of outlook arose, and before
the far-reaching effects of the sacrifice of loved
ones could be perceived, there seemed to be
little reason or right for such a train of deso-
lation. They were perfectly justified, too, in
thinking this, when insufficient time had elapsed
139
Life in a Tank
to enable them to judge of the immense, sweep-
ing, beneficial effects that this struggle has pro-
duced in the moral fibre and stamina of the
nations engaged.
It must be remembered that the horrors of
the imagination are far worse than the reali-
ties. The men who fight and the women who
tend their wounds suffer mentally far less than
those who paint the pictures in their minds,
from data which so very often are grossly exag-
gerated. One must realize that the hardships
of war are merely transient. Men suffer untold
discomforts, and yet, when these sufferings
are over and mind and body are at ease for a
while, they are completely forgotten. The only
mark they leave is the disinclination to un-
dergo them again. But on those who do not
realize them in their actuality, they cause a far
more terrifying effect.
Now, others, as well, have discovered that
war's advantages outweigh so much its losses.
They who with their own eyes had seen the
wonderful fortitude with which men stand
pain, and the amazing submission with which
140
A Philosophy of War
women bear sorrow, returned full of zeal and
enthusiasm, to carry the torch of this uplifting
flame to their own countrymen.
Others will realize, too, that although one
may lose one's best, yet one's worst is made bet-
ter. The women will find that the characters
of their men will become softened. The clear-cut
essentials of a life of war must make the mind
of man direct. It may be brutal in its simplic-
ity, but it is clear and frank. Yet to counteract
this, the continual sight of suffering bravely
borne, the deep love and humility that the de-
votion of others unconsciously produces, bring
about this charity of feeling, this desire to for-
give and this moderation in criticism, which is
so marked in those who have passed through
the strenuous, searing realities of war. Since
the thirty pieces of silver, no minted coin in the
world has bought so much as has the King's
shilling of to-day.
THE END
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
U . S . A
University of California
SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIUTY
305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388
Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed.
JUN 0 4 2004
SRLF
2 WEEK LOAN
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAC,L1TY
Uni
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11