Salute of Guns by Donald Boyd

Author:Donald Boyd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bisac Code 1: HIS027090: HISTORY / Military / World War I
ISBN: eBook ISBN: 9781783378579
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Published: 2013-01-18T16:00:00+00:00

We made up a new verse:

God bless ye Army Commandant

Let nothing him dismay,

The boys upon the Birr Cross Roads

Can’t live to run away.

They think a soldier’s life is foul

And neurasthenia fair

But ‘tis tidings of comfort and joy —

Daddy Johnson pleaded for the Army Commander. ‘He’s doing his best for the army, after all,’ he said.

‘Well then, why the hell doesn’t he use some counter-batteries to shut up those bloody guns—’

‘— and a few aeroplanes to knock out the early morning bird bastard?’

My servant Backhouse packed my rucksack. We were going to the wagon line for a day. Backhouse had won the DCM for conduct in the Messines Battle. He won it, Mac said, because he never could keep any shoulder-title or cap badge. Mac said Backhouse was on his way to join him near 4711 when the Germans counter-attacked. A subaltern mistook Backhouse for an infantryman, put him under arrest, thrust a rifle in his hands and said, ‘Fire that, all you know.’ Backhouse said nothing but climbed on the firestep and got to work. He saw nobody, not a solitary German, but he kept on firing uphill. After an hour the subaltern came back. He was so surprised to find Backhouse still there and firing that he recommended him for the DCM, and it was so rare that infantry ever found artillery worthy of recommendation that the award was made.

It was well enough to have a day off; but just at the moment great 8-inch high explosive shells were bursting with a time fuse about thirty feet above the Menin road, and we could see the pieces ricochet along the pavé. The shells tore apart in enormous black bursts. At the first lull we got on to the road. It was quite empty and we trotted gently towards Hell Fire Corner, to be clear of it before the next series began, and succeeded; but just past the crossing a platoon of infantry appeared, solemnly marching forward, and Backhouse grinned as we fell into a walk.

Walking over the bridge in Poperinghe after a bath I met Nankivell. ‘I have two guns, one subaltern and five men left,’ he said, ‘or else I’d ask you to come and dine on the Menin road.’

‘I do,’ I said, ‘I live there too.’

‘I expect we watch each other being shelled. It’s the only amusement left.’

A few days after a subaltern arrived to prepare for our relief. We thrust all the papers at him, ammunition states, trench stores, barrage schemes, registration tables, calibration records, SOS rockets, charts, plans, notes, aeroplane photographs. His gunners came up before dawn in two small parties. The Numbers One took the detachments into the pits and shelters, handed over the guns, and left the newcomers in charge. It took about fifteen minutes. We moved off, a small party on foot. Although the position had been manned by no more than a handful of men we had lost twice their number in ten days, either dead or wounded. Mac kept saying

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