Tag Archives: R C Sherriff

The Death of ‘Father’

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Captain Archibald Henry Douglass – known to his fellow officers in the 9th East Surreys as ‘Father’ – died of wounds on 8 April 1918.

He  was born in Brentford towards the end of 1887, to the Reverend Henry Douglass and his wife Clara. He had four older sisters and a brother, Percy, some thirteen years older, who also fought in the war, in the RAMC in India, attaining the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.

Census records show Douglass in Preston in 1911, living in a boarding house, working in an electrical manufacturers, and training as an ‘electrical engineering pupil’. He enlisted in the Middlesex Regiment in December 1914, and was commissioned into the East Surrey Regiment in July 1915, arriving in France on 5 June 1916 – just in time for the 9th East Surreys to take part in the Battle of the Somme, where it suffered heavy losses.

Officers of the 9th East Surreys, March 1917. Including 2nd Lt Sherriff (middle row, standing, centre) and 2nd Lt Douglass (third row, standing, extreme left). By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: ESR/25/Clark/7)

Douglass came through the Somme unscathed, and so was on hand in September of that year to impress a young 2nd Lieutenant fresh out from England – R C Sherriff – who later recalled the first time he met ‘Father’:

‘…sadly sitting in our shed drying a sock over the candle…Father⁠ was one of the most lovable men I have ever known: to use an exceedingly ungrammatical expression he was the best type of typical Englishman: he hated any form of affectation and he hated vulgarity. A man of few words he would sit for an hour or more at a mess table without saying a word, smoking cigarettes that dangled from his upper lip – leaning forward and fiddling with his fingers under the table. He was also the coolest man I ever saw in the trenches where nothing ever seemed to make the slightest impression on him.” (From: Memories of Active Service, Vol 1, p69. Copyright Surrey History Centre, Ref: 2332/3/9/3/2)

That first meeting would later be immortalised in the opening scene of Journey’s End, where Captain Hardy is initially glimpsed drying his sock over a guttering candle flame.

The officers of ‘C’ Company, 9th East Surreys. Front row, left: 2nd Lt Douglass. Back row, second left, 2nd Lt Sherriff.  By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: SHC 2332/6/4/2/3)

His nickname lends support to the view that Sherriff had ‘Father’ in mind as a possible model for the character of ‘Uncle’ in Journey’s End, but there are other plausible models, including Percy High (a schoolteacher some ten years older than Douglass), and David Hatten (the ‘wise old Hatten’ as he was sometimes called). But besides the image of Hardy hunched over his candle, there is another moment in Journey’s End which is undoubtedly attributable to ‘Father’. Sherriff’s account, in Memories of Active Service, of his first proper week in the front line includes the following exchange of dialogue:

‘”It was a perfectly bloody time”, Douglass replied to Hilton [the Company Commander] – “The Minnie’s came down two at a time – you couldn’t watch both; and when the Minnies didn’t come – aerial darts and rifle grenades did – ugh! it was rotten” – He glanced around the table and said – now in the voice of a really annoyed man – “Pat, you’re Mess president – why the Hell isn’t there any pepper! Must have pepper.”‘ (Vol 1, p212)

Anyone familiar with Journey’s End will recognise the dialogue in an instant:

When Sherriff first came to know him, Douglass was a 2nd Lieutenant, but over the following eighteen months he was promoted to Captain, and by March 1918 was the Battalion Adjutant. He had successfully come through the Battalion’s engagements in Messines in June 1917, and Ypres in August of that year (when Sherriff was wounded home). But on 16 March 1918 – just five days before the Battalion would begin its rearguard action against the attacking Germans in the Kaiser’s Battle – Douglass was wounded by a bomb fragment, being hit in the cheek, leg and thigh. Whether this was accidental, or the result of enemy activity (the East Surreys were in the front line on that date) is unclear. According to Michael Lucas, he is reported at Rouen Hospital on 22 March, and was shortly thereafter returned to England. There are almost no details in his War Office file at The National Archives, and the telegram reporting his final demise, on 8 April, notes that he died, at the Queen Alexandra Military Hospital in Berkeley Square, of meningitis following a gunshot wound to the head.

‘Father’ is buried in Hanwell Cemetery in London, and his grave is listed in the records of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. But his most fitting memorial will always be found in the pages of Journey’s End.

 

Killed or Captured

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At 1:00am the East Surreys had withdrawn from their positions, between Hattencourt and Hallu. As the History of the 8/West Kents noted:

‘the withdrawal had to be done with great care. It took a long time creeping, section by section, along the grass border of the village road, out beyond the village, until it was safe to march in column of route on the road itself. The withdrawal was made in perfect order, without casualties and we took up positions at Hallu by 3:30am.’

The Battalion took its place in trenches which had, in 1916, been the old German front line. The position ‘did not inspire us with a great deal of hope’.

As early as 7:45am, the Entrenching Battalion on the East Surreys’ right (the West Kents were to their left) reported to Brigade that there was a gap of several miles in the line between the Brigade and the French on their right, and the enemy were advancing in large numbers. They were told to withdraw fighting to the Rouvroy-Rozieres line.

Major C A (‘Nobby’) Clark

At the same time a message was sent to the East Surreys that their right flank had given way, and the Entrenching battalion withdrawn. 15 minutes later another message reported that the trench just 30 yards in front was now full of Germans, and a ‘great deal of machine gun firing’ ensued, with many casualties inflicted. The Battalion was holding a front of almost 1400 yards, and beat back the Germans time and again.

Shortly afterwards, 73 Brigade, on the left flank was forced to withdraw from its position on the Brigade’s left, leaving the West Kents and the East Surreys in line ‘with both flanks in the air’. The West Kents informed the East Surreys that they were proceeding to withdraw, by platoons, from the left, and ‘an orderly retirement commenced’.

But as the East Surrey Diary noted, they were:

‘determined to hold on at all costs, and would not withdraw. Under Major C A Clark’s command, defensive flanks were at once formed and still we held the enemy back, against terrific odds. The Battalion continued the great stand against overwhelming numbers, every officer and man fighting to the last, until 9:30am when it was completely surrounded.’

Clark’s indomitablility was later recalled by Private Eatwell (as quoted by Michael Lucas):

‘[Major Clark] said: “We have nothing on our flanks, and there are no supports behind. You will either be killed or captured before the morning is out. Stick it out for the honour of the Regiment.’

Officers of the 9th East Surreys, April 1917. Major C A (‘Nobby’) Clark highlighted right, and Captain Godfrey Warre-Dymond highlighted left. RC Sherriff middle first row standing. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (ESR/25/Clark/7(9))

At one point in the battle Clark attempted to withdraw his men, only to find Germans to the rear as well as in front. He later recalled:

‘We took up position in an old communication trench and used our rifles with great effect. [Lieutenant] Grant was doing excellent work until shot through the head, and Warre-Dymond behaved admirably. It was a fine fight and we held them up until the ammunition gave out. They charged in and mopped up the remainder. They were infuriated with us.’

The 72 Brigade Diary is quietly critical of Clark’s decision to stand and fight: ‘9th East Surrey hung on too long and lost heavily. Major Clark MC, Lt Grant, Capt Dymond, Lt Blower and RSM Phillips all missing. Reported surrounded and fighting to the last.’ But everyone in the Brigade were impressed at their bravery:

‘We can well imagine Clark, dogged old solider that he was, hanging on like grim death to that bit of trench. It was not till long afterwards that we heard he was wounded and a prisoner, and we all missed him greatly in the Brigade for the rest of the war. There can be no question of the gallantry of himself and his officers and men.’

* * * *

The final scene in Sherriff’s Journey’s End marks the beginning of the German onslaught on the first day of the Kaiserschlacht. What happened next was left to the audience’s imagination. The old soldiers among those who were first to see the play would have had no doubt about the likely fate of Stanhope and his fellow officers, being well aware of the casualties the battle inflicted on both sides.

A couple of years after the play was first produced, Sherriff turned his hand to writing a sequel, in movie-style, hoping that the film companies might be interested in what happened to Stanhope after the curtain fell. The opening scene shows Stanhope, Trotter and the men continuing to fight, but the Germans are superior in numbers and firepower. When they offer him the chance to surrender, he declines, and the Germans begin to pound his trenches. With his men dying around him, Stanhope leads the remainder on a forlorn charge against the German trenches, where those that survive are easily overpowered:

‘It is soon over. Some are shot down. Others fling themselves blindly into the German trench. Stanhope is struck and stunned by the butt of a rifle – Trotter struggles violently and is overpowered. A German officer glances down at the captives and gives an order to the German soldiers who line the trench. The soldiers climb out of the trench and walk silently in line across No Man’s Land, into the ruined trenches of Stanhope’s Company and into the distance beyond.’

There seems little doubt that the opening scenes in Sherriff’s sequel to Journey’s End were, at the very least, heavily influenced by the heroic sacrifices of the 9th East Surreys on the 6th day of the Kaiserschlacht – perhaps not in all its detail, but probably as it was handed down at Regimental dinners and reunions by those who were there that day (and especially by two of Sherriff’s closest friends in the Battalion – ‘Nobby’ Clark and Godfrey Warre-Dymond)

* * * *

The East Surrey Diary reports that only three officers and about thirty men succeeded in escaping German clutches. From 26 March until 8 April, ‘the remnants of the Battalion were attached to the 8/Royal West Kents until the arrival of the Brigade at Franlen, when the Battalion became a separate unit once more.’

 

 

Hanging on by the Teeth

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As dawn broke on 25 March, the East Surreys were dug in, behind their wire, along the Hattencourt road.

The Germans had attempted to cross the Somme, and, although beaten back in certain areas, had succeeded at Béthancourt, due west of 72 Brigade. At 2:00am, not long after the men had finished fortifying their positions, the Brigade was informed that the 8th Division and the French would be attacking in the direction of Béthancourt, and the 24th Division (comprising 72 Brigade, 73 Brigade and 17 Brigade) were to move up in support. At 9:00am the East Surreys moved forward, through Fonches, to the region of Curchy. But the Battalion Diary records that ‘the Germans attacked 8th Division in the early morning and when our troops were nearing Curchy Germans were almost in the village. The Brigade then became involved in the fighting.’

The Battlefield on 25 March, from Lucas, M., The Journey’s End Battalion: the 9th East Surrey in the Great War

Soon enough the Brigade (with 8/Royal West Kents on the left, the East Surreys in the middle and the entrenching battalion on the right) gave the order to withdraw back towards Fonches. The East Surreys were now reinforced by about 150 men from other Brigade and Divisional details, and, even though they were heavily shelled, they repelled several German attacks, causing ‘many enemy casualties’. The Royal West Kents history, noting that the Battalion had been commanded to ‘hold out at Fonches to the last’, commended the splendid heroism of the men, and observed that ‘the cross road at Fonches [on which the German artillery and machine gunners had drawn a  bead] will surely always live in the minds of the little garrison who hung on by the teeth there through that awful day.’

LGR 109 (the regiment’s Ersatz-Battalion at Karlsruhe in Baden, 1918): courtesy of Andrew Lucas

Using German sources, Michael Lucas reports that the main enemy units ranged against 24th Division were from the German 28 Division:

‘[This] was a first-class formation. Its infantry were the Grand Duke of Baden’s lifeguard regiment, LGR 109…[which] in the afternoon, was moving towards 72 Brigade, “approaching Fonches from the east…At the Fonchette-Liancourt road they encountered strong resistance supported by artillery. Nevertheless by about 7:00pm they had approached very close to the road and had secured a favourable jumping-off point for the assault on the following day.”’

Even so, they continued their attacks throughout the night – being beaten back ‘most gallantly’ by the Brigade – despite the fact that the enemy shellfire was ‘terrific’, causing many casualties.

[Next post: 26 March]

Marching out splendidly

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The East Surreys spent a very cold night in shallow trenches in the open at Licourt on 23 March, and next morning they – and the rest of the Brigade – were ordered to withdraw the 6 miles to Chaulnes. At 7:00am, according to the Brigade Diary, the men ‘marched out splendidly’. On the way the men saw ‘welcome signs of our own artilery…Big guns were in position and speaking to some purpose on all sides…’

The Brigade had a few hours rest at Chaulnes, during which the West Kents attended to the men’s feet, with ‘much needed water and soap’ brought into use. But ‘whilst dinners were being served’, news arrived that the Germans had crossed the Somme to the south, at Béthencourt, and the Brigade was detailed to march to Fonches to plug a gap between the 8th and 20th Divisions. En route they were warned that the enemy was in sight and they would never reach their destination, but they found instead, that it was ‘a place of perfect peace’.

The Brigade disposed its forces defending the Hattencourt-Fonches-Fonchette Road, with the East Surreys on the right and the 8/Royal West Kent on the left. Cookers were brought up to give the men a hot meal, and the rest of the day was spent in strengthening the trench positions behind an existing belt of wire, completing their work by midnight. There followed an ‘uneventful night’, with night patrols – sent out well forward – finding no signs of the enemy.

[Next post: 25 March]

Bridge on the River Somme

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The History of the 8th Royal West Kents recalls the night of the 22/23 March 1918 in Monchy Lagache:

‘All night the hangars at the great aerodrome at Monchy were burning, and lit up the country for miles. The enemy shelled the village in a random way, and the night was bitterly cold. At dawn breakfast and as fine a tot of rum as was ever drunk was issued…’

But the day was not set to go well, either for 72 Brigade or the East Surreys.

Early in the morning orders were received to withdraw to the Somme, with 72 Brigade detailed as a rearguard, to protect the Falvy bridge crossing for the 17th and 73rd Brigades. The fog would have worked to their advantage had the Divisions proceeded immediately, but the East Surreys didn’t start until 9:00, and the West Kents at 10:00. As a result the two Battalions were to cross the three miles of plain to Falvy under withering shellfire.As they left, the Rifle Brigade had begun to dig in behind Monchy to hold the village as the other Battalions withdrew. ‘D’ Company of the East Surreys remained with them to scout through woods on their left and act as a flank guard.

From: Lucas, M., The Journey’s End Battalion: The 9th East Surrey in the Great War

Retiring to Falvy, 72 Brigade – now reinforced by the 19th Entrenching Battalion, the Depot Battalion of the 24th Division and a couple of companies of the 12/Sherwood Foresters took up its rearguard position on high ground to the east, where they could see the Germans approaching. 

Meanwhile, the Brigade Diary records the dramatic adventures of its Signalling Officer, Lt G F Hopkinson who set off from Brigade HQ on his motorbike to make contact with the Entrenching Battalion. Stumbling onto a pocket of ‘Bosche’ he turned away, and, despite coming under heavy rifle fire ‘at point blank range’, he stopped to pick up a wounded soldier who was crawling back to the British lines – gallantry ‘worthy of the highest military honour’.

As it happened, the Entrenching Battalion, spotting the advancing Germans, had already made its way to the bridge at Falvy, which was just as well, as the Germans reached the east bank of the Somme, just to the south, at much the same time. The pressure was now on 72 Brigade to withdraw its men across the river before the bridges were blown. This they were able to do, apart from ‘D’ Company, which had become detached from the Rifle Brigade after some 4 miles of the retreat (fighting all the way). It had headed north, to the crossing at St Crist (where some of the cavalry and transport crossed), but by the time it made it to the river the Germans were pressing on the bridge. Michael Lucas quotes from an account given by 2nd Lt Orchard, after his return from captivity:

‘…to avoid being cut off the Company was marched to the riverbank and endeavour made to find a bridge. A disused bridge of planks was found near St Christ but it was found that there was a gap of 20 yards or so on the other side, which a few of our people swam across. The bridge at St Christ was now heard to be occupied by the enemy so we decided to tray along the river bank in an opposite direction. However , at this time we were seen by the Germans from a hill nearby and an officer and some men came forward to demand our surrender. As our Company by this time was only about 20 it was considered useless to put up a fight and we surrendered…’

By the end of a ‘horrible’ day – the worst of which might have been avoided if the Brigade had moved off earlier, in the fog (according to the West Kents History) – the East Surreys had now lost the bulk of two of their companies (‘B’ having been badly damaged on the first day of the battle, alongside the North Staffords), and suffered significant casualties in the two which remained. By about 6:00pm they arrived at Licourt, where they were fed and rested for the night, albeit in shallow trenches, mostly in the open.

[Next post: 24 March]

‘Troops very reluctant to withdraw’

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In the final scene of Journey’s End, Stanhope mounts the dugout steps to face the oncoming German assault. If his fate were similar to those of the real East Surrey men who faced the fury of the first day of the German assault in the Kaiserschlacht, then he and his men had at least a chance of emerging unscathed: only one of the East Surrey’s 4 companies had suffered savage casualties (having been in the line in support of the 1/North Staffords, who were ‘all but wiped out’ according to the Brigade Diary). But we know, from the early scenes in Sherriff’s (unpublished) sequel to Journey’s End, that, while he and Trotter would survive, his Company would suffer grievous losses. While those scenes may, in part, have been based on the experiences of the real East Surreys, that particular fate was actually to come a few days later in the German assault.

For the moment, at the end of the first day of the battle, the men of the 9/East Surreys were occupying a position on the ridge between Vermand and Maissemy, and had been joined by the remnants of the 1/North Staffords. Early in the morning, taking advantage of a heavy fog, the East Surreys had retrieved the body of their former Commanding Officer, Lt Col Le Fleming, and, according to the Brigade Diary, helped a party of the Royal Field Artillery bring back 9 abandoned field guns.

From Lucas, M., The Journey’s End Battalion, Pen & Sword, 2012

The Germans began their attacks, on both sides of the Omignon River, at 8:15am. The East Surrey Battalion Diary written up some time after the battle (by Captain W (Harry) Lindsay – a close friend of Sherriff’s), reported that there was considerable artillery activity on both sides, and that a ‘heavy enemy barrage fell on our front line’, continuing for about half an hour, and then ‘creeping on to the support and reserve lines’. By 10:30 they were reporting that the Germans had twice attacked their positions, but had been driven off. According to Michael Lucas:

‘The Germans then made a third assault, bringing machine guns to bear on the left. Whilst a portion of the line was driven in, the position was quickly restored with the help of Major Clark with some HQ staff. The ground was now thickly strewn with German bodies.’

Lt (later Captain) C A Clark MC, as drawn by Private Edward Cole of the 9th East Surreys. By permission of the Surrey History centre (Ref: ESR/19/2/7/1-15)

Despite their stiff opposition, the East Surreys were ordered to withdraw ‘owing to the flanks giving way’, and was reassembled at Mons-en-Chausee under Major Clark. ‘Troops very reluctant to withdraw’, noted the Battalion Diary – an opinion with which Major Clark agreed, as he later recalled: ‘the order was not popular, as everyone was in the highest spirits and quite confident of beating back any attack of the enemy’. But perhaps it was for the best, since the 11th Hussars, withdrawing alongside the East Surreys, noted that ‘at this time, some 2,000 Germans could be seen advancing down the hill towards Vermand’.

Around 1:00pm the Royal West Kents, north of the river alongside two companies of the 13/Middlesex, and noting that the enemy had reached the outskirts of Vermand south of the river, were ordered to withdraw fighting through the 50th Division, who were in the Green line. The bridge over the river was blown at 1:00pm after all of the troops on the south side had passed over, but they were subject to considerable machine gun fire as they made their way along the exposed Vermand Road.

By the end of the day the Brigade had taken up ‘newly dug battle positions’ at Monchy Lagache – shown towards the bottom left of the map above, behind the thick dotted line which would represent the front line at the start of the next day – the third of the German assault.

The Brigade Diary, summing up the events of 22 March, noted:

‘another hard day’s fighting, in which the Brigade and 12/Sherwood Foresters and 11/Hussars put up a magnificent show beating back attack after attack, and holding their ground almost entirely on either side of the river.’

Next Post: 23 March

‘Arf Past Five, Sir

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The final scene of Journey’s End opens with Mason softly shaking Stanhope awake: ‘Arf-past five, sir,’ he says. In a moment or two, Trotter wanders through, lathering up his face: ‘Sounds quiet enough out there,’ he remarks. As the scene progresses, the sounds of shelling commence, and Stanhope sends Trotter up first, followed by the others. Only Raleigh will return to the dugout, to die, before Stanhope slowly mounts the stairs to meet the oncoming German advance.

Sam Claflin as Stanhope in Journey’s End (2017), courtesy of Lionsgate UK

Sherriff, of course, was not in France for the opening salvoes of the Kaiserschlacht, having been wounded in the opening days of the third battle of Ypres the previous August. So he can be forgiven for not knowing that the German artillery started raining down on the British lines an hour earlier than it did for Stanhope and his fellow officers. The 72nd Brigade Diary notes that, on a very foggy morning, ‘Germans opened very heavy artillery and trench mortar fire at 4:30am. Essling Redoubt, Maissemy and Vadencourt Chateau heavily gas shelled for 6 hours.’ The North Staffords Diary noted that ‘there was a considerable amount of gas shelling, and Battalion HQ dugout soon became full of gas.’ The fog was so dense that it ‘prevented any idea of finding out enemy or our own movements by observation’.

Michael Lucas relates that the German bombardment was ‘of crushing intensity and remarkable precision’:

‘…the first 2 hours were devoted mostly to known enemy batteries, trench mortars, command posts and billets, with mixed high explosive and gas. The next 3 hours were devoted largely to the British infantry and their defences. At 9:40am the German infantry moved forward under a creeping barrage.’

Lack of visibility and destruction of communications meant that messages had to be relayed by runners, who were often wounded or delayed. Lt Lechmere Thomas – RC Sherriff’s friend, ’Tommy the Bomber’ – who had joined the 9th East Surreys at much the same age and at much the same time as Sherriff – was working at 72 Brigade HQ as Intelligence Officer when the attack began, and, leaving at 5:45am, didn’t reach the North Staffords, in the Brigade’s right sector, until 8:00am. He later asked to rejoin his Battalion.

From: Lucas, M., The Journey’s End Battalion, Pen & Sword, 2012

The Germans made rapid progress on the Brigade’s right, quickly making their way through the North Staffords in the Forward Zone. ‘B’ Company of the East Surreys, which had been posted the previous night to support them, sufffered some casualties in the inital bombardment, and then was eventually overrun, after very stout resistance, around about noon – so that ‘only around 30 made it back to the battalion’. The other 3 companies of the East Surreys moved up at 10:00am to Villecholes and were ordered to help in defence of Maissemy. Other units in the area were unsure of the enemy’s exact position, and while reconnoitoring forward Lt Col Le Fleming, ℅ of the East Surreys was killed by a sniper, leaving Major C A Clark (Sherriff’s old friend ‘Nobby’) in command.

On the left the West Kents put up more successful resistance, but even there, by 1:00 o’clock they were struggling:

‘Enemy broken through on right and advancing on Essling Redoubt. Vadencourt bridge blown up in face of enemy. Pontru trench has been occupied by enemy from right  flank and remains of 2 forward companies holding on in Cookers Quarry…Enemy advancing from river. We are inflicting heavy casualties. Mounted men are coming over the sky line by Lone Tree Post. Several Battalions advancing against us…’

At 4:00pm the Brigade Diary reported that the East Surreys were holding a line from Villecholes east and then south, joining with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The Germans pressed hard over the next few hours to take the high ground to the south of Maissemy, engaging mainly 61st Division, and thus sparing the East Surreys the worst of their onslaught. As the evening wore on the Royal West Kents had to withdraw from their positions in Vadencourt, while the neighbouring 17th Infantry Brigade had given up Cookers Quarry.

By late evening the fighting had died down, but the Brigade Diary summed up a day of heavy losses:

‘Summary: The very thick fog of the morning undoubtedly enabled the enemy to break through our outpost defences as most of the posts and Machine Guns were taken in rear. The North Staffords were almost wiped out – only 3 officers and 20 other ranks came through. Battalion HQ apparently put up a magnificent fight…8 RW Kents put up a magnificent fight in defence of Vadencourt Chateau throughout the day and caused very severe casualties…’

According to the records of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (and remembering the inherent unreliability of precisely dating deaths in the face of the confusion of the battle on this and ensuing days), the North Staffords probably lost around 80 killed on the first day of the German advance, with the Royal West Kents losing over 40, and the East Surreys around 20, with several times that number wounded.

There would be many more casualties in the days ahead.

[Next post: 22 March]

A dugout in the trenches before St Quentin…

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R C Sherriff’s classic play begins on the night of Monday, 18 March 1918, when ‘a pale glimmer of moonlight shines down the steps into one corner of the dugout’. The officers of an Infantry Company arrive in their dugout, located in a support trench about fifty yards behind the front line, somewhere in front of St Quentin.

Almost from the moment the officers arrive they are made aware that the ‘big German attack’s expected any day now’, and that they’ll most likely be in its path during their six days in the line.

* * * *

Although the Infantry Company in the play is unspecified, Sherriff based his play on his own experiences with the 9th East Surreys. By the time of the German advance in March 1918 he had long since returned to England, wounded early in the Third Battle of Ypres in August 1917. His old Battalion, however, was based very close to the location of Stanhope and his fellow officers: from 11 March to the evening of the 17 March they were in the front line in Villecholes, about 3 miles from St Quentin.

The Battalion War Diary (written up afterwards, as the original was lost in the chaos following the German attack) reports the line being generally quiet (‘it was a most uneventful tour’), although it also notes that:

‘During the six days the Battalion was in the sector, there was a marked lack of artillery fire on the part of the enemy, it seemed as if he were waiting and saving his ammunition for some definite purpose.’

Of course, this prescience may be explained as the wisdom of hindsight, but intelligence reports at the time indicated movement behind the German lines that could be consistent with an imminent attack, and so British commanders were inclined to be alert to any possible threats. On 15 March, for instance, the War Diary for 72 Brigade (which incorporated the 1/North Staffordshire Regiment, the 8/Royal West Kent Regiment and the 9/East Surreys) reported that, owing to an expected enemy attack, a reserve company had moved up to fortify a position before dawn: ‘Everybody stood to as our artillery opened fire as before. Nothing happened.’

The 16 March was quiet as well, according to both the Battalion and the Brigade, although the Brigade Diary does note that ‘an enemy aeroplane was brought down in flames caused by the Lewis guns of the 9 East Surrey regiment – it fell just behind the enemy’s lines’.

Early on the morning of 18 March the East Surreys were relieved by the 1/North Staffs, and returned to the reserve camp at Vermand, about three miles away. The Diary reports that ‘Being the first day that the Battalion was out of the line, the day was devoted to Baths, kit inspection, re-equipping etc.’. But an abundance of caution was still in evidence, for ‘one company was standing-to every morning one hour before dawn in case of an enemy attack. This was carried out in turn by companies’. Meanwhile, back on the front line, the Battalion Diary reported that on the night of 18 March, ‘a gap was found cut in our wire in front of an advanced post of the right Company, right Battalion. The same thing had been done to left of Battalion on our right…all precaution was taken in view of possible raid but nothing followed.’

[Next post: 19 March]

Goodbye to the Very lights, goodbye to the war

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Having been wounded on 2 August, Sheriff was now in hospital in France. He had dictated one letter to his mother and now wrote briefly home to Pips, noting that he was writing with his left-hand, which is why the writing was shaky. At the point of writing he still did not know whether the wound would be sufficient to see him shipped back to England, but, after a night at the 14 General Hospital at Wimereux near Boulogne, he sailed for Dover on 4 August aboard the Hospital Ship St Denis.

From there it was on to the Royal Victoria Hospital in Netley in Hampshire, where he stayed for two weeks, writing to his mother and father while he was there, but also – very happily from his point of view – being visited by them as well. He fully realised how lucky he had been to have got home (‘considering the comparative slightness of my wounds’ – according to a letter to Pips on 5 August). Ten days later, he noted that only his finger remained damaged, and ‘that will soon be better’ (letter to PIps, 15 August.⁠)

However, by then there there was a new problem: his neuralgia had flared up again. The reoccurrence of the neuralgia may well have been psychosomatic. He knew his wounds were relatively superficial, and expected to be out of hospital relatively soon. On 18 August he wrote to Pips that:

‘As my wounds are now practically better there is nothing for me to stop here for except my neuralgia which will probably be cured by the application of some syringe to my ears. However, I shall not of course hesitate to report any trouble I have with my head, for I think 10 1/2 months is quite a sufficient spell out there and that I am due at least a couple of months off in England – and the kind of neuralgia I had several times in France was enough to knock me up – I have not had it as bad as I did in April this year but it is always hanging about.’⁠

Even as he was clutching at that straw, however, a Medical Board had decided that he was fit for service again. He was granted 3 weeks leave, after which he was to report to the East Surrey’s Grand Shaft barracks at Dover,and, after three weeks Home Service there, he would go back out to France again.

A week into his leave, however, he again reported sick. This time he had boils – which had broken out on his neck when he left hospital, and then formed more widely in places where he had splinter wounds – and he was checked in to St Thomas’s Hospital in London. The treatment took long enough that he had to write to the battalion notifying them that he would not be returning as planned, and requesting an extension of his sick leave. The cause of the boils is unknown, but, while infection may have played a part, so might the stress of knowing that he was just a few weeks away from returning to the din of the trenches.

On 9 November he joined the 3rd East Surreys in Dover. Throughout the course of 1918 a succession of Medical Boards ruled him unfit for overseas service, and he never did go back to France – at least, not until May 1921 when he took his Battlefield Cycling Tour with his father.

According to Pips’ account of their journey, they visited all of the places where Sherriff had spent time in the front lines: Ersatz Crater and the front line at Vimy Ridge; the craters of Hulluch, where he worked with the tunnelling corps; Cité Calonne, with its basement dugouts, where they had enjoyed some merry evenings; Bully Grenay, where he had his photo taken with his fellow officers; Hooge, where they had spent hot days marching in the sun; and, finally, to the battlefields around Ypres, where Sherriff’s father recorded his son’s wounding in unemotional fashion:

‘It was in this battle – about the 1st or 2nd day – that my eldest son, Captain R C Sherriff of the 3rd East Surreys was wounded and sent home to England where he remained until the end of the war.’

In 1930, Sherriff began writing a sequel to Journey’s End, which took up where the play had left off. The first scene shows the men of the Company under heavy pressure from the Germans. Stanhope mounts a suicidal attack, which leaves the Company destroyed and Stanhope and Trotter in than hands of the Germans. ‘Well,’ says Trotter, ‘this is where we say goodbye to the Very lights. Goodbye to the war.’ Sheriff may have felt a similar emotion as he climbed the gangplank of the St Denis on 5 August 1917.

I was wounded this morning

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On 1 August the battalion had finally moved forward from its tent encampment at Dickebusch to the Old French Trench, 2 miles south west of Ypres, preparatory to moving up to relieve one of the units which had been engaged in the Battle of Pilckem Ridge, which had begun with an intense artillery barrage prior to an assault on 31 July.

Many years later (1968), writing in a volume of essays  (Promise of Greatness: The 1914-18 War), Sherriff described the barrage:

‘We were surrounded by batteries of artillery, and for three nights it was bedlam…There was something grand and awe-inspiring in the tremendous cannonade of guns. If you stood out there at night, you would see the whole surrounding country lit with thousands of red stabs of flame as salvo after salvo went screaming overhead.’

While the guns may have raised the spirits, the weather and the conditions in camp did quite the opposite, for by the time Sherriff’s battalion was called upon, it had been raining incessantly for three days and nights, and the conditions in which the men were living were unspeakable:

‘The cookhouse was flooded, and most of the food was uneatable. There was nothing but sodden biscuits and cold stew. The cooks tried to supply bacon for breakfast, but the men complained that it “smelled like dead men”. The latrines consisted of buckets with wet planks for the men to sit on but there weren’t enough of them. Something had given the men diarrhoea. They would grope out of their shelters, flounder helplessly in the mud and relieve themselves anywhere. Some of the older men, worn out by the long marching and wretched food, were sick. They would come groping out of their shelters, lean their heads against the corrugated iron walls, and stand there retching and vomiting and groaning. Then they would go back to their huts…These were the men who were to break through the German lines, advance into Belgium and win the war.’

The battalion moved forward from Old French Trench at 5:00pm on 2 August, to take over the brigade battle front from the North Staffs (who held the northern half) and the Queens Royal West Surreys (who held the southern half). ‘C’ and ‘D’ Companies took over the front line, with ‘A’ Company in support and ‘B’ Company in reserve. The battalion diary recorded the difficulties the relieving troops faced:

‘Heavy rain had been falling for three days, no communication trench could be used, for they were more than waist deep in water and liquid mud. Consequently all movement had to take place overland and the dark night and obstacles in the way made progress slow. In addition, on arrival at the support line, and, further, on the way to the front line, ‘C’ Company got caught in a heavy rain of shelling from the enemy, suffering something like 20 casualties in killed and wounded.’

Sherriff was one of the wounded.

In his 1968 article Sherriff wrote of the circumstances surrounding his wounding, suggesting that the battalion had been involved in an ‘over-the-top’ style of attack which had begun at dawn, and that he had been wounded in the afternoon, when attempting to make contact with a neighbouring company. But his account is quite at odds with the battalion diary, which must be seen as much the more reliable source. Being written more than fifty years after the event, it is not surprising that some of the details would be incorrect, but there is no question of the veracity of his general account of the miserable conditions in the days leading up to his wounding nor of the fearsome barrage which proceeded his move towards the front lines, both of which are corroborated by the diary and other sources. Similarly, his account of the shell that caused his wounding seems authentic, as does his description of what happened immediately afterwards:

‘It was a soldier’s legend that you never heard the shell coming that was going to hit you, but I know from first-hand experience that you did. We heard the report of it being fired, and we heard the thin whistle of its approach, rising to a shriek. It landed on top of a concrete pillbox that we were passing, barely five yards away. A few yards farther and it would have been the end of us. The crash was deafening. My runner let out a yell of pain. I didn’t yell so far as I know because I was half-stunned. I remember putting my hand to the right side of my face and feeling nothing; to my horror I thought that the whole side of my face had been blown away. Afterward, with time to think about it in hospital, I pieced the thing together. The light shell, hitting the solid concrete top of the pillbox had sent its splinters upward, mercifully above our heads; but it had sent a ferocious spattering of pulverised concrete in all directions, and that was what we got.’

Sherriff and his runner ‘began the long trek back, floundering through the mud, through the stench and black smoke of the ‘coalboxes’ [shells from 5.9 inch howitzers] that were still coming over’. They made their way back to a dressing station, and then, after a brief examination by a doctor, they carried on to a field hospital. Sherriff reckoned they had walked for 6 hours, over 5 miles, to arrive at the hospital, where, ‘with the aid of probes and tweezers, a doctor took fifty-two pieces of concrete out of me, all about the size of beans or peas. …He wrapped them in a piece of lint and gave them to me as a souvenir.’

The same night (or, most likely, the next day, despite the dating of the letter) he wrote home to his mother (or, more precisely, had an orderly write the letter to his dictation – the handwriting is clearly not Sherriff’s), to let her know that:

‘I was wounded this morning in the right hand and the right side of the face. Nothing at all serious, dear, don’t worry. I walked down all right…rest content that I am quite well and there is a chance of getting home.’

He promised he would write her another letter, unless his wound happened to be a ‘Blighty’.

[Next letter: 3 August]