The Brigade’s first day in the front line, at the start of December 1915, was captured in detail in a letter from 422, Cpl ER Brown, published in the South Wales Evening Post on January 12, 1916.
The letter describes his journey from their billets in Vaux-en-Amiens to the front line, where they were attached to the 5th Division to gain experience. Corporal Brown’s service record states that he was the NCO in charge of battery communications, so it is reasonable to that he was one of the 12 Telephonists referenced in the War Diary on December 2.
VAUX-en- AMIENS – 2/12/15
Received instructions from Head Quarters RA 53rd (Welsh) Divisional Artillery that…. 4 Officers, 12 Telephonists, 4 Nos 1 and 2 Staff Sergts of the 1/1st Glamorgan Battery RFA be attached for training to the 5th Division for a period of 4 working days.
1st Welsh (Howitzer) Brigade War Diary, National Archives
FIRST TIME AT THE FRONT
SWANSEA GUNNERS NARRATIVE
SCENES BEHIND THE TRENCHES
A Vivid Story
___________
Corporal Brown of the RFA, son of Mr W H Brown of the Central Hotel, High-street, Swansea, sends the following racy, cheery, and splendidly written account of life at the front:-
The Baptism of Mud
“Splattering and grumbling we awake,” he says. ‘What time is it?’ Five o’clock. Outside is dark, cold and wet. The cheerless ‘well ventilated’ barns in which we billet seem as comfortable as any cosy bedroom. Compared with the climatic conditions outside. We must be up and doing, as it is an eventful day, a day we have been waiting anxiously for ever since we left Swansea early in August 1914. A party is going up to the firing line. We tumble out of our blanket, fold it in our waterproof sheet, and together with the remainder of our kit, sling them across our shoulders, and out into the dark. We grope our way through mud and slush to where our horses are picketted, and untether them and take them to the village well to water. Now comes the hunt for our harness. Mud up over your boots, you at last come across your appointments, and what a picture of cleanliness they make. We cleaned them yesterday, but they are worse than ever today. Well, I suppose it only means another “dust up” when we parade. Now to breakfast – of tea, bread and bacon. We have eaten as much as we can in the short time allocated us, and are now mounted and ready to move off. Roll call, and then: ‘Half sections right, walk march,’ we are off, carrying with us the good wishes of the boys we are leaving behind. A cold journey across the plain, over which some of the British troops had made a stand at the retreat of Mons, to the village of ——, where meter omnibuses are awaiting us. Our horses are sent back and we take our seats on top of the bus, so that we can have a good view of the country over which we travel. True to time-table, the bus gives a whirr, and we commence a 30 mile journey to the ‘doings.’
The Dearth of Men
“I should think we had covered three-quarters of the journey, and apart from individual French soldiers, we have neither seen nor heard anything to indicate that a war is on. The land is being looked after and cultivated, but one notices it is a boy or an old man who steers the plough or handles the spade. We are now passing something that recalls to mind the very descriptive reports we have read in ‘Blighty.’ A long line of trenches stretching as far as the eye reaches, both left and right of you, and protected in front with an ugly 10ft width thick barbed wire entanglements. These trenches, I am told, are ready should at any time we have to fall back. We are now passing that which once was a cottage; it is razed to its foundations, all except one corner, the two walls of which are about five feet high. We look closer and see that with the help of this corner and some trees from a neighbouring wood an old French peasant is making his home. We cannot stop to ask any questions, but such plain facts indicate the plain truth.
“We are now passing a battalion of infantry, siting on the roadside, snatching a meal. They have been marching for three days, and are looking slightly the worse for wear, wet and muddy, but as cheerful as crickets. ‘All fares, please,’ ‘Change here for Piccadilly.’ Such are some of the remarks that are shouted to us as we pass. Someone who perhaps was wetter than the rest, or whose feet were giving him trouble, or who, perhaps, was one of those who are only happy when they are grumbling, shouted: ‘It’s nice to go to war in a bleeding motor cars.’
“We have now arrived at the place where we have to say good-bye to our ‘bus, and continue the rest of the journey where the battery to which we are to be attached is ‘dugged out.’
Coming and Going
“Now we are seeing and hearing something. There is not a whole house in the district, the roads are bumpy through shell bursts, every nook and corner which affords shelter from aeroplanes is crowded with horses that belong to the various units that are in action in that area. Convoys of food, forage and ammunition. Small fatigue parties coming or going to the tranches, and last, but not least, included in our vision is mud, mud in a good thick slimy condition, and it seems that the reputation earned by ‘Flanders Mud’ was going to be upheld in this area, and I should think improved on.
“Guns, both large and small, rattle away. The big naval guns fore a salvo by way of a salute to us, I suppose. It is getting dusk and we can see the flash, but we cannot locate the position of them. We are in a valley whose hills simply bristle with artillery, I think the only building in this area is one in which the chaplain is running a bit of a cinema; all the others bear marked evidence that they were not made for the purpose for which they have been used lately, and that is targets for the Huns.
In the Library
“We are glad we have arrived at our destination at last. We are welcomed by the boys of this battery and are shown their ‘Library’ and told to make ourselves as comfortable as we can. ‘The Library’ was about 20 feet long and dug into the bank about 5 feet. There were two ready made tables and forms, but for any weight over that of a magazine they were not of much use. A scratch fireplace dug into the earth was making an endeavour to do its best with damp logs of wood. A piece of candle (about 2 inches) was also doing its best to add light and warmth. A few old magazines and newspapers completed this ‘furnished apartment,’ which had been reserved for us. A varied assortment of cartoons from ‘Punch,’ drawings from the ‘Sphere,’ etc.. adorned the walls. We are now told off to join a mess and receive the first meal practically speaking of the day. It is quite dark now, and the place being strange we managed to put our feet into all the pools of water that there are and into the deepest mud there is. Never mind, we are having hot tea and bread and jam. What a feast; nothing could have been nicer: good fires and plenty of light in these mess dug-outs make our spirits rise and we feel gay again. Over the tea-table we are regaled with the hair-breadth escapes of this battery. A large number of the men have been in every large engagement of the war – commencing at Mons.
“Outside we are treated to the music of artillery fire, maxims, bombs, and rifle fire, night lights, and all the paraphernalia of the war.
Educating the Green ‘Uns
“A message from the infantry trenches, and ‘Action’ is called. Out of the messes rush the gunners and down to the guns; we all rush as well to look on. They fire a couple of rounds, and we all troop back to the ‘library’ now to renew our thrilling stories.
“Advice is given us willingly what to do, what not to do, how to do it, and the whole knowledge gained through their long experience is given us willingly. They seem to take it that should anything unfortunate overtake us the blame rests with them. How to listen for shells and to tell their direction when whistling through the air, where to avoid spent bullets, and where not to go in view of the Huns’ tranches. When they left us for the night, we had sufficient information to pass on to any other ’green un’ which would convince him we had been everywhere and had done all the fighting since August 1914.
“That night was one of very little sleep for us. The ground was our hard bed, and that was all wet and muddy through everybody walking in and out; it was cold; we only had one blanket; the rain dripped on us, the guns reared, the night lights were lighting the ‘library’ up now and again, and rats in dozens, and big enough to be harnessed to guns, kept creeping about looking for a warm corner of your blanket. What a night!
“Morning, welcome; glad to get up at 5 to ease your bones and get the blood to circulate. Daylight, and we get the first glimpse of where we are – a valley, peaceful and quiet; nothing whatever to indicate that within 1½ miles two nations are fighting. Breakfast, and we start (a sergeant and myself) for the infantry trenches.
“I don’t think I will attempt to write down my thoughts as we walked up the valley to the communication trench. There were only two of us, so that there could be no courage in numbers; he was a dare-devil (had been mentioned in desptaches several times and had gained the DCM) and wherever he went I had to go, and what he would get up to this particular morning I could not tell. Anyhow I decided to stick to him, and follow him wherever he went.
“Into the trenches – slush – half-way up to your knees in clayey mud to start, slipping and sliding, we slushed along, soaking wet to the knees already, and we had not gone 100 yards. Never mind, impossible to keep your feet and legs dry, so wallow away in it, because once they are wet it doesn’t much matter. ‘Keep your head well down, Corporal,’ say he, ‘we are entering the first line trenches.’ That was the first intimation I has as to where I was. We had been walking, gliding, sliding, and nearly swimming for about 45 minutes; no conversation between us – just a word of enquiry from me and a word of caution from him – until we reached the Artillery Observation Post, which was situated as near to the German lines as possible. From here I decide to have a look round. So Taking a periscope I thought I was in for a treat. But what a disappointment. All I could see was wire entanglements and the parapets of the German trenches. All was quiet and serene, not a living soul in site, birds pitched in ‘no man’s land,’ the whole being a peaceful country scene. What I expected to see really I don’t know, but it was quite impossible to believe that one was so close to death.
A Sniper’s Pot-Shot
“Ping; What was that? A Hun sniper had caught sight of the sergeant who was lying on our parapet looking through a pair of field glasses. A miss ‘tis true, but it took the peacefulness away from the scene I was taking in through the periscope. We had to move from there pretty smartly as they commenced their morning shelling with whizz-bangs. This, my first baptism of fire, did not make the impression upon me that I thought it might have done, and although the shells came rather close to be comfortable, after the first two I felt quite serene. I have been under heavy shell fire since, but it has not in any way affected me, and the uncertainty of what it is like under shell fire seems to me to be worse than the reality of it.
“The infantrymen in the tranches are quite contented, and although up to their waists in mud take it as a matter of course. Naturally you hear them grumbling and swearing, but that is only part of their work. They do that in civilian life. On our return journey we passed through an orchard which had been the scene of severe had to hand encounters between the French and Germans. It was an awful scene. The Germans have since continually shelled it, and have turned up the bones of the fallen. Scenes of that description, I believe, are few and far between.
Noisy Nights
“During the nights one is constantly aroused by the guns, and until you become used to them it is difficult to distinguish the difference between the German guns and our own.
“By way of a relief we were treated to a fine site one afternoon. About six English aeroplanes were up reconnoitring, and although continually shelled never came down until they had completed what they set out to accomplish.
“It is a very fine experience, and although the life is hard and rough, it is what every young man should go through. It is experiences of this kind that make men.
“It is not permissible to keep a diary, otherwise I could write a book.