On the morning of June 7, 1917, the British Prime Minister got up very early, as early as three o’clock. He wished to hear an explosion on the Western Front; and although he was at his home near London he heard it too! For our men had made an earthquake and had blown up a hill which had been held by the Germans since the earlier days of the war.

The high ground which gave the Germans such an advantage in this part of the line was known as Messines Ridge; and the men who held it were fiercely determined not to lose their position. Their officers had given very definite orders on this matter. “The enemy must not get the Messines Ridge at any price.” So ran the stern command, and the defenders were assured that strong forces were ready immediately behind them to deal with any parties of their foes who might succeed in “breaking through.”

The British were equally determined to take Messines Ridge and had planned to blow it up in order to clear the way for the advance of their guns, to straighten out a part of the line near Ypres and to gain command of the plain of Lille. The preparation for the “earthquake” took no less than a year!

Mines were driven deep down under the German front-line trenches by men from the coal districts of Britain as well as parties of stalwart Australians and New Zealanders. Their plan could not have been quite unknown to the Germans; for they too dug mines towards the British lines, and sometimes the parties of rival diggers came quite close to each other.

But the extent to which the British were prepared to go in “blasting” operations was not realised by their foes.

When the long task of digging and tunnelling was finished electric wires were placed in position; and it was arranged that the tons of explosive packed away in the earth were to be fired by the touch of a spring on a metal plate. In a dug-out some distance behind the mines a little group of men gathered together on the night of the 7th waiting for the moment at which the spring was to be touched.

A few minutes before three o’clock on the following morning the spring was touched, and for a moment the watchers held their breath. Then there was a deafening quivering sound unlike any other that had been heard in the long-drawn-out din of the fighting in this greatest of all great wars. The earth opened, sending out great tongues of flame and dense clouds of smoke; then came huge fragments of rock and earth mixed with the bodies of Germans and the wreckage of their first-line system of trenches.

British infantry were posted ready for the advance. The shock of the explosion threw many of them to the ground; but in a very short time they went forward with a mighty rush and quickly captured Hill 60. There was now a general advance along the line and in many places the Germans were found to be too dazed to make any real resistance. Large numbers of prisoners fell into our hands. “This is more than human nature itself can suffer,” said a German officer to those who had captured him.

Among the prisoners were two German boys of about seventeen, who had already been in the firing line for about twelve months. A British officer said to them, “You ought to be spanked and sent home to your mothers.” The boys laughed merrily and one of them replied for both, “That is what we should like, sir, if you please.”

The man-made earthquake was of course a preparation for the advance, not only of infantry, but also of the artillery. The latter had been specially anxious to move forward after the long period of fighting in one quarter. The artillery advance is thus described by one who saw it and who speaks of it as an “historic incident,” which indeed it was:

“An order passed along to all the batteries. The gun horses were standing by. They were harnessed to the guns. The limbers of the field batteries lined up. Then, half-way through the battle, the old gun positions were left behind after two and a half years of warfare in one spot.

“The drivers urged on their horses. They moved at a gallop and dashed up the slopes. The infantry stood by to let them pass, and from thousands of men, these dusty, hot, parched soldiers of ours, there rose a great following cheer, which swept along the track of the gunners and went with them up the ridge where they unlimbered and got into action again for the second phase of the fight.”8

The Battle of Messines was a victory for patience. It showed also what men could do by means of organising and planning with great care. You will probably remember the little plasticine model of Vimy Ridge. There was another model made to help in the preparation for the Battle of Messines. It was much bigger than that made for Vimy, but it was built up with the same care and it was closely studied by all who were to take any part in guiding the men in this tremendous battle. Of course, the airmen were very useful in the work of making the model: and a great deal of the credit for the success of the operations at Messines is due to them.

Among those who fell in the attack delivered after the great explosion was a well-known Irish Member of Parliament, Major William Redmond. He was a Nationalist or Home Ruler, and a passionate lover of his native country, which he ardently wished to see happy and contented. In order to understand the full meaning of his death we must recall what had been happening in Ireland in recent years.

The British Parliament wished to give Home Rule to Ireland and had, indeed, passed a Bill to do so. The men of Ulster, however, did not wish to have an Irish Parliament at Dublin; and there was a great deal of unhappy ill-feeling between the two Irish parties on this matter. It was Major Redmond’s great desire that this quarrel between Irishmen should be settled. He felt and said that if he should die in battle it might help to heal the breach between the men of the two political parties and bring peace and contentment to Ireland.

During the three nights before the battle, he slept in a cellar under the chapel of a religious house known as the Hospice not far from the front line. He was very anxious to be allowed to lead “the boys” of his regiment “over the top” and had begged his superiors to allow him to do so. After a good deal of hesitation, he was given leave to charge at the head of his old battalion of the Royal Irish Regiment.

He received the news with the joy of a schoolboy who has been promised an extra holiday. “Won’t it be glorious,” he said, “to breast the sand-bags?” Then he went up to the trenches in the company of his servant, and when his men saw him they set up a cheer. “Sir,” said his servant, “this cheering is not good for you.” “I’m afraid,” said the major, with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re getting shell-shock already.”

The great explosion took place, and before the burning earth had time to descend, Major Redmond was “over the top” and the first man in the regiment to face the awful scene. Before long he fell, wounded in the leg and wrist, and he was found lying on the battlefield by stretcher bearers of the Ulster division. It was an Ulster ambulance which carried him, wounded to the death, from that awful field of battle; and it was men from Ulster who tended him in his dying moments. So he did, indeed, give his life, not only in an attempt to drive back the Germans, but also to bring peace to Ireland.