James Lusk
James Lusk
JAMES LUSK
B.A. (CANTAB).;
CHEVALIER DE LA LÉGION D'HONNEUR;
CAPTAIN AND ADJUTANT
6TH BATTALION THE CAMERONIANS
(SCOTTISH RIFLES)
LETTERS & MEMORIES
OXFORD
PRINTED FOR B. H. BLACKWELL
BROAD STREET
MCMXVI
This little book has been written, in the first instance, because some of those who knew James have asked for it. And, secondly, it has been written for the sake of the Children whom he loved—the children of his Sister and of his Brother—who may ask for it one day, though they will never know how much they are the poorer for his passing. And, finally, it has been written to the greater glory of God, Who so wondrously fashioned his life, that it seems to us, as we look back upon it now, to have been 'a swift and shining track straight to the Goal.'
M.T.L.
OXFORD,
December, 1916.
CONTENTS
Prologue
I. Falkirk, August, 1914—March, 1915
II. Early Weeks in France, March—June, 1915
III. Festubert, June—November, 1915
IV. The Last Weeks, November and December, 1915
Epilogue
NOTE
Most of the letters which compose this book were written by Captain Lusk to his Mother. Grateful acknowledgement is due to those who have allowed us to use other letters and Magazine Articles. In many cases it has not been possible to ask for this permission, but we venture to believe that, could we have done so, it would have been granted. We are especially indebted for encouragement and help to Lieut.-Colonel T. Martin Kay, lately commanding the 6th Cameronians.
PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
James Lusk was the elder son of the late John Lusk, Dunavon, Strathaven, Lanarkshire, his mother being a daughter of the late David Colville, Motherwell. He was born at Broomhouse, Lanarkshire, September 19th, 1878, and received his early education at Uddingston School and the West of Scotland Technical College, Glasgow. He entered St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1903, and took his degree in the Mechanical Sciences Tripos in 1905. He rowed in several Lady Margaret Crews.
After taking his degree he returned to Scotland, and entered the Firm of Messrs. David Colville and Sons, Ltd., of the Dalzell Steel Works, Motherwell. At first he occupied the position of Assistant Works Manager, and later became one of the Directors of the Firm. Those associated with him in a business capacity have characterized him as 'an exceptionally able and clear-headed man of business.' In collaboration with Professor Barr, he carried out an important and valuable series of tests on High Tensile Steel in the Glasgow University Engineering Laboratory. He designed a Slide Rule for the calculation of weights and areas of steel, which is of great assistance to those employed in Rolling Mills. In the designing of new Plant his experience was of great benefit to the Firm. He was a member of the Iron and Steel Institute, and an Associate member of the Institution of Civil Engineers, and a member of the West of Scotland Iron and Steel Institute, of which at one time he was a Vice-President. His relations with the men at the Works were always of the happiest, and one of his colleagues wrote to Mrs. Lusk on the night when the news of his death reached home,—'There will be many sad hearts in the Works tomorrow.'
James Lusk was not a man who liked publicity in any form, nor yet one who cared to talk much of the deepest things. But after his Father's death in 1913, he loyally tried to carry on the tradition of service which was handed down to him. The Council of the Lanarkshire Christian Union passed the following minute in February, 1916:—'We desire to minute our great sense of loss which we have sustained in the death of our esteemed member of Council, Captain James Lusk. He was a man of the utmost integrity, who at all times exhibited a true Christian character. His was a life not of words but of deeds, and he made the great sacrifice on the field of battle in the performance of his duty. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."'
In the Obituary columns of the Temperance Leader of January 15th, 1916, it is noted that 'Captain Lusk .... has been a life-long abstainer, and a member of the Scottish Temperance League since his boyhood.... In the case of Captain Lusk and that of other brave lads who have fallen in this cruel war, it has been clearly demonstrated that a man may be a brave soldier and an efficient leader on the battle-field without the taint of alcohol.'
James Lusk probably felt that the young men and boys of the great busy town of Motherwell had a special claim upon his time and thoughts. He was President of their Dalzell Highland Pipe Band, and also a Director of the Junior section of the Motherwell Young Men's Christian Association. What his fellow-workers thought of him must be told in the words of a fine 'Appreciation,' contributed by one of them to their Young Men's Magazine, January, 1916:—
'Some years ago, when we had erected our suite of rooms for the working youths of the town, and had chosen about a dozen of these youths to act as Directors of this Junior Section along with several of our Senior Members, we looked around for two or three gentlemen who could be invited to join this newly-constituted Board, and who would bring distinction and character and personality with them into the midst of these working lads.
'Greatly daring, having heard of his interest in such work, we asked Mr. James Lusk, B.A., Cantab., to come and help us. He readily consented, and to all our subsequent meetings he brought in rich abundance the qualities and influence we so much desired. Our members came at once in contact with a very perfect Christian gentleman. His gentlemanliness, his courtesy, his kindliness, and a certain air of courtliness with which he surrounded himself as with an atmosphere, all exerted a pervading influence on the lads in the section.
'There always are and always will be certain qualities, as Arnold of Rugby told us long ago, to which we must ultimately stand cap in hand; and to the fine distinctive character of James Lusk our members rendered instant homage. His personality, as we have said, had its influence. The football-loving Juniors who thronged our rooms grew up, and many of them migrated elsewhere, where the conditions under which they played their game were not so wholesome as in the Institute of the Motherwell Y.M.C.A. It is within the writer's knowledge that many of these young fellows found it very much easier to resist the temptations to which they were subjected, just because at an earlier period they had been permitted to associate to some extent with such a man as James Lusk....
It was no surprise to us at the Young Men's Institute to learn in these latter days that the men of his Regiment paid homage to his virtues and character, as our juniors had done; neither was it any surprise to us to learn that he resigned his position on the Staff to go with his own men. That was just his way.....
'There were other characteristics of his which left their imprint on some of us who were associated with him in the Y.M.C.A. Young Men's Institute. One of these was his enthusiasm. His enthusiasm was one of the earnest enduring kind that had been nourished down in these depths where visions and passions dwell, and out of which truth and beauty come because of the ever-growing and ever-deepening knowledge of life. We believe it was out of the wells that he had dug deep in his own heart, that there sprang that eager desire to help these lads with their football clubs, their gymnastics, their orchestras, their book-club, their holiday-fund and their Bible and Mission Study Circles, for he was quick to realize that all these things helped to the making of manly men.
'Another truth his association with us constantly reminded us of was the fact that it is as a rule the best disciplined, the best tutored and the best educated minds that achieve the finest results. He was a clear and incisive thinker, and when his problems had passed through that acute mind of his, they were quickly assorted out into their elemental and component parts.....
'Many words will not enable us to put on record our deep abiding respect and our great admiration of the quiet, modest, lovable disposition of Captain James Lusk, of the very great abilities he possessed, and of the strong, brave, bold, fearless soul that dominated and shone through it all, and made him eager to serve alike his Go, his King and his Country. It will always be one of our safely-guarded and treasured memories that we had the honour of associating with him, for he was one of the very finest types of an Officer and a gentleman that ever we have known.'
Captain Lusk took a Commission in the 6th Battalion The Cameronians (Scottish Rifles), T.F., in November, 1908, and was gazetted Lieutenant, July 31st, 1910. The Cameronians are the successors of the fighting Covenanters, and the 6th Battalion are men of the district in which Captain Lusk's home had been, the districts of Drumclog and Bothwell Bridge,—names which arouse grim memories of valour in every Scotsman. From the first he took a keen interest in the efficiency of the Regiment, and gave of his best to its service. One never thought of James as a soldier in those old days, though no doubt some aspects of the work always appealed to him. But the strength of his character as an Officer, then and later, was not in any love of fighting, but in a strenuous self-forgetfulness and a keen desire to do well the thing that was wanted.
He was in Camp with the Battalion at Ayr at the end of July, 1914, when the thunder-clouds of the impending storm of the European War began to gather black and lowering. From the date of mobilization, the narrative of Captain Lusk's life may be followed in his own letters, which form the groundwork of the present volume.
To James Lusk, as to many another, the great call for service and sacrifice seemed to be just what he had been waiting for. It gave him his opportunity for the exercise of a devotion and a heroism which those who knew him best had hardly dreamed that he possessed.
One nearly related to James has succeeded with remarkable felicity in putting into words what we had been vaguely feeling. We quote at length from his letter to Mrs. Lusk after her son's death:—
'It was a great privilege and a sad pleasure to read those precious letters about James, which you kindly sent. I wish to let you know what impression they made on me, for they have set me a-thinking about him and his life, now that it is ended here, so greatly to our grief.
'I confess that these letters were a revelation to me. I thought that I knew James pretty well, but these letters from entire strangers up till a short time ago to him and to us, all revealed more to me about him than I was prepared for. James, as we all could see, was reticent on the higher things of heart and life, as many Scotch people, myself included, are; and his little hesitation in utterance doubtless made him more so than he naturally was. I once, as I thought, had a glimpse of his inner nature. It was when I met him first at Dunavon after his father had passed away. He and I happened to be coming together round the house at night from the back. He, with his usual consideration and helpfulness, took the old man's arm to guide me along the paths. We naturally fell into an intimate talk, the darkness perhaps helping us both. I spoke to him about his father's eminent goodness, and of the precious example left by his life to all of us. He responded with hearty appreciation, which seemed at the time to give me a peep into him, which was pleasing, if not unexpected. Probably other friends of James had similar experiences at times. But these letter-writers appear to have seen quite clearly what others saw but dimly. They made acquaintance with him at the great period of his life, and in circumstances fitted to brush aside all formality and conventionality. It was the War that did it. The War, with its reality and sternness, has evidently been both developing and revealing the badness of some persons and nations, and the goodness of others; and it seems to have developed as well as revealed the strength and the beauty of James' character. It seems to me as if we saw the tender buds peeping at times timidly out of the ground, while these strangers saw the flowers in full bloom and sweetness. The charm of what they saw won the respect, the admiration and the love of both his inferiors and superiors. And how glad they evidently were to tell, in sincerity, not in flattery, what they had seen, to you, to whom what they wrote was sure to be more than it could be to any other person in the world! They wanted to tell his mother what an impression her son's gallantly and high-toned character had made upon them who saw him at his best. They have helped us to know James better than perhaps any of us, even you, knew him before; and that new knowledge is well fitted to raise him high in our loving memory. Had it not been for the War, his good qualities would have been shown by degrees in other ways. Had he lived long, as we all hoped that he would, his life would have been doubtless a prosperous, honourable business life, a life of strict integrity and much usefulness, in which he would have been an influence for good among his workmen and others. But God ordered things otherwise. A great crisis in the country's history, the greatest indeed in the world's history, occurred, and the call came for defenders of Right against Might, of high ideals and liberties, and James was ready and obeyed the call of duty, not counting even his life dear to him, and that supreme sacrifice in the great cause was required of him.'
A few of the letters referred to are inserted among Captain Lusk's own at the points to which they relate; a larger number will be found at the end of the book. It remains to gather together here some stray leaves which are too precious to be lost, from the wealth of appreciation which was showered upon his Mother after his passing.
Of his military efficiency:—
'He was a good soldier.'
'An exceedingly capable, thorough and conscientious Officer, and we all liked him. He was straight always, and fearless to a degree.'
'If ever a man did his job thoroughly, he has done his.'
Of his kindliness:—
'I will always remember James Lusk's kindness to me about five years ago when I lost my mother, and those were the kind of things he was doing daily.'
'I cannot tell you of a third of the kindness he showed me during my stay in Motherwell, nor of all I heard while there of many acts of kindness and thoughtfulness he did to others, of which no one heard anything.'
'I expect he went through his days doing so many kind things that he did not look for thanks.'
Of the many attractive sides of his character:—
'His bravery and his gentleness.'
'His quiet consistent Christian life at home, and his self-sacrifice and heroism abroad.'
'His sweet playing, so like his spirit.'
'Every day there is some reminder of him—even the toys on the nursery floor which he had given.'
'To us who knew James and his never-tiring work for the Highest, it may perhaps seem that he would rejoice in giving even his life, if it had to be. James had a greater power for sacrifice than anyone else I know.'
'Those of us who are so proud and glad to have known him, and to have come into touch with his passion for whatsoever things are lovely, will feel a new pulse now of the tide of calm and beauty he inspired; and in the memory and fellowship of his brave and quiet spirit we dedicate ourselves again to the service of life.'
I
FALKIRK
August, 1914—March, 1915
I
FALKIRK
August, 1914—March, 1915
Immediately after the declaration of War on the ever-memorable August 4th, 1914, the 6th Cameronians were sent to Falkirk. On August 7th Lieutenant Lusk was appointed Transport Officer of the Battalion, and in those first days of hurried preparations and dispositions, his work was to scour the country-side for the necessary horses and carts. The experience of the future months justified his selection of horses, and he used to display them with pride to his friends in their field at Bantaskine.
Then followed the routine work of training and camp life. Here is Lieutenant Lusk's account of the day's work:—
AUGUST 16, 1914.
I get up at 5 a.m. and parade the men of my transport section at 5.45. Then at 6 o'clock they water, groom and feed the horses. Breakfast at 7, then get ready for the day's work. On Friday we were out on the road from 8 till 2 p.m. (fourteen miles), and after that we have to bring the regimental rations from the station to headquarters, and then distribute them to the various schools where the different companies are billeted... Everyone must be in at 9.30 p.m., when the roll is called. Discipline is being more rigidly observed than at camp, but everybody is quite cheerful under it.
But before much time had passed an important decision had to be made, and two letters to his Mother will show the spirit in which Lieutenant Lusk made it:—
AUGUST 23, 1914.
A good many Territorial regiments, including our own, have been asked if they—or at least some of their number—would be willing to serve abroad if required. It is generally considered very unlikely that Territorials would be sent to any places of real importance if they volunteered to serve outside of the British Isles. I have felt quite sure that you would wish me to go wherever I was most needed, and it makes little difference whether that is at home in this country or elsewhere, and so I have told them that I for one was quite willing to serve abroad if it was required. I have had no hesitation at all in saying this, because I have felt so clearly led to the view that it is the right thing to do in case it should be necessary, and I know that you will feel the same.
AUGUST 29, 1914.
Our contribution to the Foreign Service Battalion, consisting of five officers and about 240 men, went off to their new station to-day—they are only a few miles away. It was with mingled feelings that the rest of us watched them go, but our turn may come later, and we must be willing to go where we are most needed.
This 'Foreign Service Battalion' was never actually sent out, so Lieutenant Lusk lost nothing by not being chosen for it. During that first winter of the War, his work was in Falkirk, and during most of it, it was that of Staff Captain to the Scottish Rifle Brigade. He took up these new duties on November 6th, and resigned them on March 9th. The reason of his resignation was that a short time previously his own Battalion had been told that they would shortly be sent abroad without the rest of the Brigade, and he wanted to go with them.
A few extracts from his letters illustrate the life of that winter:—
OCTOBER 23, 1914.
It is difficult to overtake all that seems to be before me waiting attention just now, but I am well and glad to be able to do it.... It will be some little time before I take up my new duties at Headquarters.... The Headquarters' Staff consists of:—Brigadier-General S. W. Hare, commanding No. 3 Brigade Area, (including S.R. Brigade; Royal Field Artillery; Army Service Corps; and Field Ambulance Corps): (2) Captain E. S. Girdwood (Brigade Major): and (3) your unworthy brother (Staff Captain). So you see I shall have dealings with all these different arms of the Service.
NOVEMBER 12, 1914.
I am writing in the office of Brigade Headquarters at the Crown Hotel. It is a very comfortable room with a fire in it, and five tables and a sideboard, with no end of papers spread on them all. There are two Orderly Room clerks always writing or typing something, and they always like either the Brigade Major or the Staff Captain to be in the room, or at least on the premises. There are three telephones. One direct to Sir John Spencer Ewart's room in Edinburgh (Commander of the Forces in Scotland); another direct to General Egerton at Bridge of Allan (Commanding the Lowland Division); and a general telephone, which is kept going most of the day. There seems to be an impression now that the 6th will not go for some time, and that they have changed their minds about sending it without the 7th and 8th: but this may be only rumour; it is difficult to tell when no one seems to know, not even the Generals themselves.
FEBRUARY 21, 1915.
There has been some rumour of the possibility of the 6th going out without the rest of the Brigade, and if they do I mean to resign my Staff appointment and go with them. They may not let me give it up, but it is considered unlikely that they would refuse to release me if I wanted to go.
MARCH 14, 1915.
We had a nice Communion Service in the Parish Church this afternoon. I played the organ, and it was a real pleasure to play the things that I like so well. Just before the Service began. I played 'O Saviour of the World.' I do like it, and it does so remind me of other days and other places. Then we had Psalm 46 to Stroudwater, Paraphrase 35 to Kilmarnock, and Paraphrase 2 to Salzburg, then the National Anthem, and then I played Bennet's 'Lord now lettest Thou thy servant depart in peace.' I chose everything myself, and there was no one to say that they liked what had been chosen or the music, and it all meant a great deal to me.
MARCH 18, 1915.
We got a message this afternoon that the 6th Battalion will leave Falkirk for Southampton on Saturday, the time will be given us later. So at last we are released from home service, and are to be given an opportunity of more real usefulness; may we be found faithful when our turn comes. Nothing else seems to matter quite so much as that. I don't trust myself, but of course I mustn't try to do that, but trust Another.
Side-lights upon the thoroughness of his work, and his happy relations with those whom he worked with, are afforded by letters from other people.
The Town Clerk of Falkirk wrote after his death:—'I can tell you he was highly esteemed in Falkirk.' Another gentleman in Larbert, who had come into contact with him while he was acting as Billeting Officer for his Battalion in the district, wrote:—'His business tact, his high sense of honour and duty, and withal the kindly and courteous manner in which he conducted all his affairs, made it really a pleasure to meet and do business with him.' Yet another testimony comes through a friend:—'When Harry was at Grangemouth, where James had been for some time, he found his memory there very fragrant.' And an Officer in the R.A.M.C., who had been associated with Captain Lusk at that period, wrote to him to France some time afterwards:—'I had a call the other day from an Artillery Brigadier (formerly in Bridge of Allan), and in conversation he expressed the opinion that the Stenhouse Muir Stables were about the best that had been put up anywhere. I thought you would like to hear this.'
Finally, one has glimpses into a happy little circle of friends which formed itself during that winter, among whom James had his own place. There are some treasured memorials of some of these friendships:—I always felt one could never be in contact with him without feeling one was near a very noble character.' 'He has left a beautiful and blameless life.' 'No one can have known your son and not go through life feeling the better for that knowledge.' 'Somehow at once one felt his goodness and strength. It helps one to be better, I think, just to look at and think about a friend like Captain Lusk.'
II
EARLY WEEKS IN FRANCE
March—June, 1915
II
EARLY WEEKS IN FRANCE
March—June, 1915
The 6th Cameronians crossed from Southampton to Havre on Saturday, 20th March, 1915. The story of their arrival there, and of their first experience of the trenches, is told at length in the following letters:—
MARCH 23, 1915.
I am writing this in the train between —— and ——! This doesn't convey much information about our whereabouts, does it? ... On Saturday afternoon we got our horses and vehicles on to our ship straight from the train. The horses were led up an inclined gangway and were arranged in rows close beside one another on two decks, and the vehicles were hoisted into the holds by cranes.... We cast off from the quay about 7 p.m. and set forth upon our voyage. John and I were the only officers of our Battalion in our ship, and between us we had 50 men and 48 horses. There were other portions of regiments on board too and about 600 horses. The main part of our Battalion went over in a fast ship, and the remainder of our transport vehicles and horses crossed in a third ship, so we were pretty well split up. When we slipped out of Southampton Harbour and reached the open sea, the moon just gave enough light to show us that two of our grand Navy's silent watchers had slipped quietly alongside of us, one on the port beam and the other on the starboard. We watched them late into the night, and sometimes they seemed little more than black shadows on the surface of the water, and sometimes came so near that we could make out their shapes, and saw that they were torpedo boat destroyers. Not a light showed either on our ship or on our escorts. Fortunately the sea was calm and the crossing quiet. We left Southampton at about 7 p.m., and next morning we wakened up to find ourselves in a large bay or estuary whose name I cannot give. There were many other ships round about us, and a big Hospital one lay quite near us. This was Sabbath morning. About 10 o'clock we got the anchor up and steamed inside the harbour, and then tugs got hold of us and got us alongside the quay. We soon got the horses ashore into a big shed, and tied them up there. Then the dock cranes hoisted out our vehicles, and by 4.30 the last vehicle was ashore. Next we got the horses harnessed into them, and started off on a five miles' march through the streets of the town and up a winding hill to a camp where we were to stay the night. Everything was under canvas, and the horses were picketed out in the open, and it was bitterly cold. I slept—or tried to sleep—with two others in a tent with a wooden floor, and except for the cold it was all right. There was to be an inspection of transports next morning at 8 a.m., so we were up before six getting the horses watered and fed and harnessed, and the men given their breakfast. The inspecting officer turned up at 9.30! About 2.30 p.m. everything was packed up, and we moved off again down the hill to one of the goods stations of the town. We got there at 4.30, watered the horses again, and by 7 o'clock had all the horses and vehicles into the train. These days have been very strenuous, but we have got through it all wonderfully well. Some of the mules have been very obstinate in refusing to be led into the railway trucks; where persuasion has failed I got a strong rope, passed it round their hind quarters and put three men on either end of the rope. This was always successful! At 8 p.m. we were under way again. Before starting we got some hot cocoa and tea issued to us, and, after our hard work and fast of about seven hours, there seemed nothing quite so good! This time, instead of splitting up the Battalion into three trains as in our country, and running them at a fast speed, they put everything, that is men, horses and vehicles, on one long train of about fifty coaches, and trundled us along at about 25 miles an hour. It is now about noon-day on Tuesday, and we are still going along in a north-easterly direction to a destination unknown. Two Hospital trains have already passed us going the other way. The men have wrought very well. The French railways use exactly the same sort of trucks for horses as for troops, and each truck is marked on the outside:—Men 40, Horses 8. They do sprinkle a little straw on the trucks where the men are, but that is the only difference. There are, of course, no seats of any kind. The horses are put parallel to the rails in two rows of four facing each other, and all the saddlery and harness goes in the space in the centre; also two men to look after them. Their head-ropes are tied to rings in the roof of the truck (which is covered), and the strong breast-rope is fastened in front of each row and made fast to the sides of the truck. Each horse has his nose-bag hung round his neck. The country is very flat; a good deal of it has been ploughed and is being harrowed. Some of the lines we have passed over are anything but main lines, and a great many of the wayside signals are being wrought by women.
WEDNESDAY MORNING, 24TH INST.
We have passed one night in billets, and go on to-day to join our Brigade.
MARCH 25, 1915.
It is about 5 o'clock on Thursday afternoon, and I am sitting in the little house where some of us are billeted, and I shall try to begin again where I left off in my first letter. I finished my last letter rather hurriedly, so that it could go off at once. I had got to the point where we were just starting off to march to join our Brigade. We left at about 10 a.m. and reached the place where we now are about one o'clock yesterday. That was Wednesday. We are not quite at our destination yet, as we are to move a few miles away to-morrow, and I suppose that will be as nearly the end of our journey as we can judge just now. The travelling has been pretty constant since we left Falkirk last Friday night, and we have just gone on and on, so that I have to stop and think what we did each day and night.... Monday night was spent ... trundling along at about 25 miles an hour, and also the most of Tuesday. We got to the end of it at 5.15 p.m., and by about 6.45 I had my transport off the train, and the horses and mules all harnessed and hooked to their vehicles, ready to go to spend the night in billets, when the rain came down. It poured. The men of the Battalion were all right, but my wretched transport horses had to spend the night in a field that had been used for a similar purpose before and was inches deep in mud. We put the blankets on them and, of course, they lay down in the mud, and everything was such a pleasing sight next morning! I slept that night in the same room as the Adjutant in an empty house. I lay down on my valise and blankets on the floor about 11 o'clock and slept with few wakenings till six in the morning. I got up then and went to my muddy field to see to the watering and feeding of my 72 beasts. Then, as usual, the blankets and cooking utensils had to be collected from the Battalion billets, and everything belonging to the transport picked out of the mud and got on the road ready for the march. Several times my big wagons stuck in the mud, but we got them out again. It was about one o'clock when we reached the little village where we now are, and all along the road troops got more and more numerous, and motor-cars, motor-ambulance wagons, motor-transport wagons came and went in continuous streams, and we knew we were getting nearer the centre of things. To-day has been wet, and mud is even thicker than usual. I had my clothes off for the first time last night since leaving Falkirk. There is some rumour of baths or tubs of some sort being available not far away, but we have not yet sought them out. They say that we are not far from the trenches, but we shall get reliable information soon on that point, as our four Company Commanders,—Captains McKenzie, Brown, Boyd and Murray,—are going into them to-morrow night without any other officers or men of our Battalion with them, just to see what things are like. So far as one can judge from the sound of the guns, this portion of the line appears to be comparatively peaceful. There have been several loud bangs this afternoon that sounded not far away, but there were not very many of them altogether. The roads here are narrow, and the centre portion of them is paved with square-shaped blocks of stone; the sides are of mud, thick, deep mud, churned up by passing traffic.
FRIDAY, MARCH 26, 1915.
I sent off my letter to you to-day, and now it is 7 o'clock and we are ready for our evening meal. We have moved into new quarters since morning, but not far away from yesterday's billets. There are eight officers at Battalion Headquarters. They are the Colonel, Major Shaw, the Adjutant, Dr. London, Lieutenant Hamilton (Quartermaster), Captain Lawrie (Machine Gun Officer), the Interpreter and myself. We sleep on the floors of different rooms of an empty house and take meals at a round table that just holds eight. Thus far we are most fortunate, but I suppose we must look for many changes. We have candle light only, and our candlesticks are usually empty bottles. The water throughout the whole countryside is not considered safe to drink without boiling, and it is best to filter it and then boil it. The troops drink a great deal of tea, and no doubt this accounts for the absence of illness that would otherwise have resulted if the water had been drunk unboiled. The country is painfully flat, and everywhere along both sides of the roads there are ditches with stagnant water in them, but I suppose the open air life of the people counteracts these unwholesome influences ... The weather has stopped raining, and my transport field is beginning to dry up. I had a hot bath to-day—my first bath of any kind since leaving Falkirk. It was down in the basement of a disused brewery, and two big zinc baths had been arranged on a concrete floor, and a hose pipe led into it from a big boiler above. The place is now used as a laundry for washing the clothes of the troops, so I put on a complete change of raiment and felt much refreshed.
P.S.—Sabbath Forenoon. We have just had a short voluntary Service in a billet that was a school. The Colonel read some portions of the Prayer Book and a Lesson, and we sang the 100th Psalm to Old Hundred, and 'O God of Bethel' to Salzburg. There was no instrument of any kind available, so I had to raise the tunes myself. We all had our caps off, and the men sang well. To-day is dry but very cold. I have many people to thank for letters, but hope to do it through time. I am very well, and hungry for every meal.
SABBATH, MARCH 28, 1915.
We have now been exactly one week on the other side of the Channel, and the time has passed so quickly that it seems much shorter than that.... We are staying in a little village not many miles to the south-west of a fair-sized town.[1] The village was at one time occupied by the Germans, and there is evidence of them in abundance. Great numbers of the inhabitants have left their homes and gone elsewhere. Some of them have taken their belongings with them and left their houses empty, and others have gone hurriedly and left everything. The troops are allowed to billet in these empty houses, and, in the case of the full ones, notices have been posted up on the doors forbidding any soldier to enter (except by order of an Officer during the course of an action) on pain of being charged with looting.... The Germans dropped a few shells on this village to-day, and some of them exploded near us, and fragments were picked up with considerable interest. Some of our officers have been up to the trenches to see what things are like. The trenches are about a mile away from our billets, and on this portion of the line there happens to be good cover to screen the approach of troops from the enemy's observation, so that one can go from here right to the trenches in the day time. At other portions of the line this is only possible after darkness has fallen.... I shall probably go to-morrow to see what my duties will be when the Battalion takes its tour of duty in them. The Battalion goes on duty in the trenches for six days at a time, but each half Battalion is relieved by the other half after three days' duty. Then at the end of the six days I believe we go a good deal further back and rest for some days. My transport are all in a field about a mile further back than this, and I go there in the early morning before breakfast to see to them, and return here for meals.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 31, 1915.
To-day is specially busy, as the Battalion goes to-night to take its turn in the trenches, but there has not been much firing in our portion of the line recently.... I have been riding a good deal, and shall ride more this coming week probably, because my transport is in a field about three miles from the trenches, and I have got to get backwards and forwards all the time.
SATURDAY, APRIL 3, 1915.
Did I tell you?—I don't think I did—that I had my first experience of the trenches on Wednesday night, which was the first night the Regiment took over its section of the line[2] from an English Regiment of Territorials who are out beside us. It was full moon and a splendid night for seeing,—and being seen! I went round the section of the line allotted to our Battalion with the Colonel and Major Shaw, but I don't think I was in the trenches for more than perhaps an hour and a half altogether. It was a weird sight under the moonlight. The line is very zig-zag and irregular—more so than I had expected to find. It is pretty narrow, and not always easy to pass along behind the men, but every here and there to the rear are what are called 'dug-outs'—simply big holes in the clay, with wooden frames supporting some sort of roof which gives head cover. Some of these have a little straw in them, and everyone has a little brazier for cooking—it is usually just a pail with holes in the sides of it—-and cooking goes on nearly all the time. The men use their mess tins to make their tea and fry their bacon and cook their eggs (when they get them), and make their stew at all times of day and night when they are not actually standing to arms. We have loopholes and periscopes and trench-pumps (for the water). They are a good deal drier now than they have been all winter, but even yet there are places in our section that I measured with a stick to be eighteen inches deep in water on either side of the board that forms the platform. Out in front of our line, between us and the Germans, are our barbed wire entanglements and what are called our 'listening posts.' You get out to these by going flat along a ditch with the clay thrown up on one side to give some head cover.
Just now there are three of us living in one room of this farm—the Quartermaster, the Interpreter, and myself. We sleep in it, cook in it, and take our meals in it, and through it the farmer himself has to pass on his way to and from his bedroom which opens off it. Fortunately there is a window which can open. Needless to say, many a thing wants washing, and your store of soap would be well-nigh exhausted before things were made right, but we don't mind that much. We wash at the pump in the farm-yard which is just outside the door. The pump again is just six feet away from a large square manure and straw heap which forms the centre of the farm-yard, and round this square the farm buildings are placed; and these contain the farmer and his family, the pigs, the hens, the horses, the calves, the rabbits and the dogs and the rats! In a field at one side are my horses, mules and wagons—there they sleep, and from there they go forth daily to do their work.
There are characteristic touches in some shorter letters a little later—characteristic of James's mechanical ingenuity on the one hand, and of his love of music on the other:—
SABBATH NIGHT, APRIL 4, 1915.
Things have been very quiet to-day, possibly because it is Easter Sunday. While you were at Church this morning, I was mending a little bridge over a ditch that forms the entrance to my transport field, and, later in the day, I had to ride several miles to see the new billets.
FRIDAY EVENING, APRIL 23, 1915.
There isn't much news this evening to tell you about. The day has been filled up so far as it has gone by various duties, none of them of special importance. I have been working a good deal of late at deadening the noise made by my wagons on the road. A good deal of improvement has already been effected, both on the wagons themselves and on the harness, so that they are less likely to be heard at a distance on quiet nights, as they go up to the trenches.
MONDAY, MAY 3, 1915.
I had a treat this afternoon. I went to the Church of this town, which is quite a large building with coloured glass windows. Many candles were burning at the Altars and Shrines, the sun was shining on the coloured lights, and the organ was being played. Oh, what a sound it is to hear in the midst of such surroundings after six weeks of silence! The louder it swells, the higher it lifts you through heights that are limitless in the grandeur of their feeling.... To-night I can hear the Church chimes striking 9.30, and what a strange sound it is to the accompaniment of the crack, crack of the rifles as they go off, not many miles away, but quite distinct in the stillness.
It was some weeks before they had their real Baptism of Fire. The story of that also must be told in Captain Lusk's own words:—
10.45 p.m., MONDAY NIGHT,
MAY 10, 1915.
I am pretty tired to-night, but I must write a line to let you know that I am well and safe, and so are John and Erskine and all our other Officers. We have all been through a big fight—the others have been more in the centre of it than I have. Regiments near us have suffered heavily, but we have been particularly fortunate. But I must tell you about it to-morrow. I had an experience last night between 9 and 11 p.m. that you can have no conception of. Our side started an attack by the usual Artillery bombardment of the German lines, followed by an Infantry advance.[3] This advance was not made by our Battalion, who remained in the same line of trenches throughout the fight.
Fighting continued all day, and got worse when night fell. It was my duty as Brigade Transport Officer to get into touch with Brigade Headquarters and make arrangements regarding the bringing up of rations or whatever else was required.
I went along a road running parallel to the trench line, and I got along it and back again alive because God was keeping me. There is no other explanation possible, for cover there was none. Your prayers had done it. It was dark, but a farm with its hay-stacks was blazing on the left of this road, on the right were our own guns shooting shell after shell over my head. The German guns were answering, and round about me right, left, in front, behind their shells were bursting with terrific noise, and rifle bullets were coming across, now in front, now behind, now overhead, with that whistle that we know so well.
Through it all I came untouched, and as I went and came again there was given me a wonderful feeling of confidence that took away all fear, and I knew that hands were being held up for me by my own.
It quietened down towards morning, and to-day it has been almost calm and quiet. No ground has been gained by us and nothing lost, and we are back to normal conditions, and very thankful it is over. I am perfectly well, and so are the others.
TUESDAY, MAY 11, 1915.
I wrote to you hurriedly last night, and am trying to take more time to-day to tell you more about things that have been taking place these last days. Now that things are over, there does not appear to be any objection to telling what took place. We knew more than a week ago that we were to make an attack on a certain date which would be given us later, and great preparations were made for it, and had indeed been going on for many weeks. Engineers spent weeks and weeks in widening main roads leading towards the trench line, and nearer the time more batteries of artillery were brought up, more infantry, more engineers, more signallers, some cavalry and more field ambulances.
At last we were told that the attack would commence at an early hour on Saturday morning, May 8th. Our Battalion was given its position in the assembly trenches (in rear of main trench), and given its orders as to direction of advance and its objective on the other side of the German trenches. Every man carried two days' rations on him and 250 rounds of ammunition, and, besides this, great stores of both rations and ammunition were heaped behind our main trenches. One night some weeks ago my transport took up to one of these stores 500,000 rounds for the use of a certain section of the trench line.
Great-coats and blankets were left behind; and men, and Officers too, carried a Cardigan jacket and waterproof sheet in addition to other necessaries such as mess tin, water bottle, entrenching tools and haversack, till everyone felt just like a Christmas tree.
On Friday evening it was raining, but we were all quite cheerful, and the feeling I had reminded me very much of the feeling one always has as one sits in an Eight in the middle of the river, stripped, and waiting for the starting gun to go!
The Battalion was all ready to march off to its assembly trenches in rear of the main trench, when an order came from the Brigade that operations were postponed for 24 hours and that all orders held good for the following day.
I happened to be senior of all the six Transport Officers in the Brigade, and so I was told that I would perform the duties of Brigade Transport Officer, and that all orders for movement of the transport of all six Battalions would be sent to me direct from the 8th Divisional Headquarters. There are four Regular Battalions and two Territorial Battalions in our Brigade.
At two minutes to five o'clock on Sunday morning our Artillery bombardment started, and continued for two hours, tapering off after the first hour and a half. It was my duty to stay back with the Brigade transports about three miles from the trenches. Everything was ready to move at a moment's notice, and I could do nothing but await orders.
About 7.30 the first motor-ambulance came down the road leading from the trenches with wounded on it, then they became more frequent, then groups of men and single men came walking back with slight wounds to arms and hands, then more ambulances with lying-down cases in them, and men sitting beside the drivers with bandaged heads.
Then the stream seemed to stop for several hours and only a few came back at intervals.
You can imagine how we who were kept back watched all this.
Despatch-riders on motor-cycles came tearing along the road in both directions. There was no speed limit; they passed like streaks. Mounted orderlies came back from our Artillery positions at full gallop, and we knew that it was ammunition that they had been sent for. Later on up the road came the teams with their loads, team after team of six horses, some at the trot but most at the gallop, with their riders sitting tight with their right arms over the shoulders of their off horses. The limbered wagons with their load of shells rattled behind the horses' hoofs. Towards the afternoon things seemed to be a little quieter, and rumours came back about all sorts of things. Then, after all that waiting, my turn came at last. Just before eight o'clock p.m., a Despatch rider on a motor-cycle brought me a message from the Headquarters of the Division.
It said that the Brigade would be moved to a certain place given by a map reference, at a time not definitely known, and that I was to get into touch with the Brigade and arrange for the bringing up of rations. It was getting dark by this time. I sent round a message to all the Transport Officers to have everything ready to move up when I gave the order, and I set out to find the Brigade. I took my fastest horse and had with me the Transport Officer of the Second Battalion Scottish Rifles and three mounted Orderlies. What a relief to get something to do! Off we went down the road towards the trenches at a gallop. My horse,—bought at Carluke,—was the fastest of them all and I led the way. Within about half a mile of the trenches we dismounted, and, leaving our horses at a farm in charge of the orderlies, we—that is Stirling (the other Officer's name) and I—went forward on foot. The positions of the different roads and fields were quite familiar to us, as we had been there many times before under the comparatively peaceful conditions of merely holding the trench line, and we knew approximately where the Headquarters of the Brigade might possibly be.
It was by this time 9 o'clock, and the night was dark. We had to turn along a road that ran parallel to the trenches, go along it perhaps a quarter of a mile, then take a track across fields in the direction of the trenches till we struck a second road, also running parallel with the trench line. Then the next thing to be done was to go along this road, and try to get touch with the Brigade by field telephones, which are laid between Brigade Headquarters and Artillery Batteries.
Crossing these fields the fire had been bad enough, but when we reached this second road there was a perfect inferno round about us. There were our own guns in every field along its length shooting across the road just over our heads, and the German shells were searching for them. Flash followed flash lighting up the darkness,—-bang followed bang with terrific force, as shells went from our side and shells burst from their side, and rifle bullets pinged and whistled through the air. There were blazing hay-stacks on one side of the road, that lit up the darkness with a weird light. Along it we went from battery to battery. The first one told us that they had been speaking to our Brigade, but that the plug had now been taken out. On we went to the next one: 'Sorry, the wire must be cut,' they said. On to the next: 'Can't do it, sir,' they said. Then on again. The firing was getting worse, and we doubled to the next place, where they had their telephone down in a cellar. This time they could do it, and I sent a message down to arrange a spot to which I would bring rations and water for the Brigade. Then we set out again on that same road to order up the Transports of the six Battalions. When we were about to leave the shelter of this place on the backward journey, the shells were bursting so near us and in such rapid succession that I said we must wait till this quietens a little. We made certain arrangements between us about the carrying back of the message, that, if either of us was knocked out, the other would 'carry on,' and then we started and ran for about half-a-mile—then lay down flat on our faces to recover breath—then up and on again, stopped under cover of a farm building to get breath again, then started down that track across the fields once more, and here we walked, for there were too many telephone wires about the height of one's chin across the pathway to make running much good. By now we had got out of the hottest part of it, and it was only an occasional shell that came across us and an occasional bullet that whistled close.
At last we reached our horses, but how we ever returned alive from our journey on that open road, where cover there was none, God knows. It must be that He honours the prayers of those at home who care for us. I was given a feeling of quiet confidence that we would get through, and all fear seemed to be taken away.
'As Thou didst help our fathers.
Help Thou our host to-day!
* * * *
Jehovah of the Thunders,
Lord God of Battles, hear!
What a Sabbath it was! The earth seemed full of anger; and as morning began to dawn, and the thunder of the guns died away, we thanked God for the lives of those we cared for in the trenches; very few of our men were hit, and not a single Officer in our Battalion. Unfortunately it has been otherwise with several of the other regiments in our Brigade.
I am not at liberty to give you the military result of this fighting for our portion of the line. Conditions here are more normal and now we realize how very different the mere holding of the line is from a definite battle. The former means desultory firing only on the part of artillery, machine-guns, and rifles;—the other is something else.
In the 'Big Fight' of May 9th, the 6th Scottish Rifles had been singularly favoured in losing none of their Officers. It was not to be expected that such immunity would be long continued. The first to fall, just a week later, was one for whom Captain Lusk had a specially warm regard. The loving care which he bestowed upon the memorial to mark his resting-place was wholly like him. His own account, which follows, is supplemented by one from the Chaplain of the Battalion:—
MONDAY MORNING, MAY 17, 1915.
The Sabbaths seem to be memorable days with us here. Sabbath the 9th of May was the battle day—our first big fight. Yesterday, in the comparative quietness of the afternoon, we lost our first Officer. Captain Lawrie, our Machine Gun Officer, was shot through the head when going along one of the communication trenches from one of his guns to the other.[4] He had stopped to speak to two men, and had possibly straightened himself up so that his head showed over the parapet. I was especially fond of Lawrie.... He had such a nice face and was just altogether such a nice soul. Oh, it is so sad that one should be taken and another left. It happened yesterday afternoon. I went up at about 6 o'clock. A grave had already been dug in a little soldiers' cemetery just behind the trench lines, where men of other regiments had been laid, and this one was for Allan Lawrie. Mr. MacGibbon our Chaplain was with us, and we were glad of that. He was brought on a stretcher, wrapped in a waterproof sheet and with his head covered. We fell in behind,—Colonel, Major, Doctor, Adjutant, Chaplain and myself. The stretcher was laid alongside, and he was lifted from it and laid to rest. Our heads were bared, and in the midst of the cracks of the rifle shots the Chaplain stood at the head of the grave and prayed. It was 7.30 on Sabbath Evening, May 16th.... We could have missed many another better than him. His horse will miss him too.... God is over all and His ways must be Best. And we must 'carry on.'
MONDAY NIGHT, MAY 24, 1915.
One of Lawrie's men has made a wooden plate to go on a cross which we shall put at his grave, and I am trying to carve an inscription on this piece of wood. I have begun to do it myself with what tools I can get, and I hope I shall have time to finish it properly. I would like to do it myself. It is better and more permanent to cut the letters on the wood than simply to paint them.
TUESDAY NIGHT, MAY 25, 1915.
I am using any spare time I have in carving an inscription on a piece of oak wood to put on a Cross on Allan Lawrie's grave. Did I tell you this already? I have got a small chisel and my penknife, but am getting on wonderfully with it, though it will take several days to finish.
FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 28, 1915.
I am still busy in spare moments working at the cutting of the letters on the plate for Lawrie's grave. It takes time, and, as Lawrie himself was an artist and drew well, I do not wish anything unworthily done to mark his resting place.
WEDNESDAY MORNING, JUNE 9, 1915.
Did I tell you that I finished the carving of the plate for Lawrie's grave last Wednesday, and we got it put up on the very day that we were ordered to leave that district? I think I did tell you that I was sending a rubbing of it to his father and another to his fiancÉe, and I am sending now to you the roughest possible impression of it. One is done partly with saddlers' beeswax, but it was so unsuitable that I had to stop it and finish with pencil. The ones I have sent are both better than these ones I now send to you.... I wrote a letter to Mr. Lawrie yesterday. I tried to write it as well as I could.
[FROM THE REV. J. MACGIBBON, C.F.]
I think the first of our Officers killed was Captain Lawrie... After Lawrie was buried behind the trenches, Captain Lusk procured an oak tablet to be placed on the Cross which marked Lawrie's grave. The carving of the inscription was a labour of love. The proper tools for carving were not procurable. He began with a penknife and latterly procured a chisel. Day by day he occupied his spare time cutting out the letters. Though his tools were primitive the letters were perfectly formed. When he had finished the whole inscription, his fastidious taste found that the surface was unequal. He ruthlessly planed this smooth which involved fresh labour in deepening nearly all the letters; yet he stuck to it working for hours on end, to make the whole as worthy as possible of the comrade who had trusted him. Then he made a rubbing of the tablet to send to Lawrie's father, trying first one process and then another and another, until he could get the best reproduction.
Three more letters will bring us down over a month of comparative quiet to the memorable events of the middle of June:—
FRIDAY NIGHT, JUNE 4, 1915.
They told us on Tuesday afternoon that our Battalion would be relieved in the trenches that night (which made only five days instead of six), and further that we were to move the next day, Wednesday, away from our 23rd Brigade and 8th Division, and join the 154th Brigade of the 51st (Highland) Division. So we got everything ready, and the whole Battalion and its Transport started on a ten mile 'trek' in a South Westerly direction. After about four hours' marching, we reached our destination, and while on the march our two travelling kitchens were working, and water was being boiled for making tea, so that the whole Battalion got a hot meal served out to them immediately they reached their billets. On these 'treks' there is always a good deal for me to do after the march is over, as kits and mails and blankets and rations require to be distributed to the different Company billets, and they are often scattered, so that the furthest of them might be a mile or so apart. These I have to find as best I can, generally in the dark and over unknown roads, so that on Wednesday I was in the saddle continuously,—with the exception of a few minutes now and then—from 2 p.m., till midnight. When midnight came and the work was done, I lay down on my valise in the open field beside my horses, pulled off my boots and jacket, and got between the blankets and slept till 6.30 a.m., when it was time to get up again to water the horses. This has to be done at a Canal half a mile away, as there is no water nearer.
... This new Division appears to be entirely Territorial, but, notwithstanding its name, there are a good many English Regiments mixed up with Scotch ones in it.
MONDAY MORNING, JUNE 7, 1915.
Yesterday we had a large Communion Service in a field. Almost the whole Battalion was present, as we were back six or seven miles from the firing line. It was drawn up in the form of three sides of a square, and the fourth side consisted of the Officers, in the centre of whom was the Chaplain with a little table covered with a white cloth. On the table was a single Communion Cup. The wine used was the red wine of the country. The bread was ration bread cut into little pieces. After the first portion of the Service was over, the Colonel took round the bread to every Officer and man, and the Chaplain and Major Shaw took the wine. To every man both were personally handed. We sang—'The Lord is my Shepherd,' 'God is our Refuge and our Strength,' 'Twas on that Night,' and 'O Thou my Soul;' and 'God save the King.' I raised the tunes, 'Wiltshire,' 'Stroudwater,' 'Communion;' and then the tune I wanted for 'O Thou my Soul' was St. Paul, but I forgot how it went, so I just took another that I didn't know the name of. I wonder if it would trouble you to send me my Psalter with the tunes? I sent it home from Falkirk in my long uniform box.
That afternoon the Battalion moved off to the trenches—a dusty march of several hours. My transport went by a different route. One gets plenty of practice in leading troops over unknown country by the map alone. Even in daylight one makes mistakes, and it is more difficult in the darkness. I got my column to the point indicated in the map reference, and found the field I was to occupy in possession of another unit's transport. This is what is known in the army as 'bad Staff work.' So I had an argument with the lad who was answering for the Staff Captain, and gently pointed out that I was right; and after gaining my point we got into the field and took the loads off the weary animals. But the work was not yet done for the day and it was already 8.30 p.m. Coke had to be taken to the trenches, so we set off at 10 p.m., with 'four mule burdens of coke,' again over several miles of unknown road, and handed it over to some members of the Battalion quite near the trenches. We got back to our field at 2 a.m. this morning, and thus ended our Sabbath.
FRIDAY MORNING, JUNE 11, 1915.
The Battalion is having a rest in billets, but the billets available in this part are too small and there are not enough of them for all the troops in the district, so that things are very much crowded. Did I tell you about this billet of ours? It is the dirtiest we have yet been in. Four of us (including Mr. MacGibbon) occupy one room and the family occupy the other. The family consists of a dirty old woman, and a daughter not much cleaner, and three lads. We have our meals in the room that we sleep in, and the family do their cooking in our room which has the only available stove! The Interpreter sleeps on the table and the rest of us on the floor, which is of stone and very uneven. There is a 'midden' just outside our windows, and we try to persuade the lads to do something to improve it, but the need for improvement does not appeal to them. Fortunately we have plenty of chloride of lime, and the eau-de-cologne you sent me has been very useful as the flies are legion. The horses and wagons are in a field behind, and the rain has made it very muddy.
III
FESTUBERT
Chevalier of the Legion of Honour
June—November, 1915
