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The Afterlives of the Bhagavad Gītā
The Afterlives of the
Bhagavad Gītā
Readings in Translation

D O R O T H Y M . F IG U E I R A
 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, ox2 6dp,
United Kingdom
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of
Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries
© Dorothy M. Figueira 2023
The moral rights of the author‌have been asserted
First Edition published in 2023
Impression: 1
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a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
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above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
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Data available
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022951836
ISBN 978–​0–​19–​887348–​8
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780198873488.001.0001
Printed and bound in India by Replika Press Pvt. Ltd.
Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and
for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials
contained in any third party website referenced in this work.
 Contents

Introduction  1

PA RT I T H E [ I M ] P O S SI B I L I T Y O F
T R A N SL AT IO N : C A N W E T R A N SL AT E T H E O T H E R ? 
1. Translation Theories  13
2. Translation and Mystification: Wilkins  31
3. European Linguists, Philosophers, and Intellectual
Rabble-​Rousers  48
A.W. Schlegel and W. von Humboldt  51
Hegel  58
Cousin  69
Conclusion  75

PA RT I I T R A N SL AT I N G C OM M E N SU R A B I L I T Y,
C L A S S , A N D C A ST E
4. Brahman as the Cosmic Translator and the Gītā’s
Potentiality in American Transcendentalism  85
Introduction  85
Emerson  87
Thoreau  95
Whitman  103
Conclusion  110
5. Nationalism, Sedition, and Mysticism  113
Vivekananda  114
Tilak  120
Sri Aurobindo  137
vi Contents
PA RT I I I T H E D E F E AT O F T R A N SL AT IO N A N D T H E
E N D O F C R I T IC I SM
6. Gandhi’s Convenient Text  149
Introduction  149
Allegory and Experience  155
Gandhi as an Interpreter and his Theory of Translation  158
7. Ambedkar’s Counter-​Revolutionary Gītā: Historical and
Political Context  174
Ambedkar on the Gītā  183
The Annihilation of Caste (1936)  191

PA RT I V T H E W E ST E R N WA RT I M E ,
​ I B E R A L G Ī TĀ
C O U N T E R C U LT U R A L , A N D N E O - L
8. The Nazi Kṣatriya Ethos  203
Introduction  203
Indologists  206
Hauer  211
Himmler  222
Conclusion  228
9. Is This What Krishna Meant?  230
T.S. Eliot  231
J. Robert Oppenheimer  246
10. What Becomes of Dharma in a Conquered Country?  259
Simone Weil  260
Savitri Devi  286
11. The Beats, the Monk, and Multicultural Artists  301
Introduction  301
The Countercultural Gītā  303
Operatic Gītās  312
Conclusion  333

Epilogue  337
Bibliography  345
Author Biography  369
Index  371
 Introduction

In recent years, scholars have speculated on the degree to which Asian re-
ligions are modern creations of the West.1 The construction of Hinduism,
in particular, has garnered considerable attention, in part due to the
popularity of postcolonial studies. Many of the arguments purporting to
show that Hinduism was a product of colonial discursive strategies dove-
tail nicely with anti-​essentialist visions of historiography. A number of
scholars have specifically examined the reception of the Bhagavad Gītā
with a view to how it ‘defined’ Hinduism, acknowledging how its transla-
tions and interpretations coloured the understanding of Indian religion
in given periods and among different populations. Indeed, the Gītā was
a ‘politically useful text’ (Sawhney 88). British imperialism’s role in the
construction of Hinduism (Halbfass 1989; Ludden 1993; Israel 2014), the
classification of Hinduism as a coherent system of practices (Staal 1989,
Jackson 1996), and the missionary activities all figure in the reception of
the Gītā (Sharpe 1985; Davis 2015).2 This present volume does not seek to
replicate this valuable research. It also parts company from postcolonial
theory’s one-​sided influence stream in that it investigates the reception
of the Gītā by Indians and Westerners alike, a topic that has also been ex-
tensively analysed (Minor 1986; Robinson 2006; Gowda 2011, to name
but a few), primarily from an historical perspective. This study, in con-
trast, focuses on how translation, as a site of textual analysis, along with

1 See, for example, studies of Confucianism as a Jesuit construction (Jenson 1995).

2 For a summary of this discussion, see Robinson (5–​9). Given this wealth of scholarship, I will
not in this study examine the issue of authorship (Feuerstein 1983: 41; Edgerton 1972: 107),
dating (Radhakrishnan 1989a: 14; van Buitenen 1981: 5; Zaehner 1976: 7), or its place with re-
spect to or relationship with the Mahābhārata (Edgerton 1972: 105–​6; van Buitenen 1981: 5;
Zaehner 1976: 7). I also do not look at its syncretism (Feuerstein 1983: 39; Johnson 1937: 6–​
7); its association with śruti literature (Coburn 1984:448–​9); or its role in effacing the distinc-
tion between śruti and smṛti (Bharati 1971: 84–​5). It is of note that, when I was reading the
Mahābhārata as a student in Paris under Madeleine Biardeau, in her many year-​long readings
of the epic in her seminars at École Pratique des Hautes Études, she skipped the Gītā as not an
originary part of the epic.

The Afterlives of the Bhagavad Gi ̄tā. Dorothy M. Figueira, Oxford University Press. © Dorothy M. Figueira 2023.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780198873488.003.0001
2 The Afterlives of the Bhagavad Gītā
its theories and methodologies has informed the initial renditions and
subsequent interpretations of the Gītā. Given the Gītā’s status as the most
translated religious text after the Bible, an analysis of its reception in light
of translation theory is, perhaps, overdue.3 Translations are not neutral,
nor is their utilization; they present issues that are largely overlooked in
historiographical analyses of the Gītā’s reception.
The work of Kees Bolle (1979) and J.A.B. van Buitenen (1981) first
acknowledged the important role translation played in the general re-
ception of the Gītā. Bolle and van Buitenen recognized the tendency to
disregard earlier meanings of terms in translations from Sanskrit. These
Indologists pointed out how, for example, the focus of karma as action, in
both Western and Indian nationalist translations alike, moved meaning
away from the understanding of karma as rites or rituals to the individual
translator’s predilection for an anti-​ritualistic and devotional reading
(Eder 38). They also acknowledged the importance of examining transla-
tional aims as well as the methods and theories underlying their practice.
This present volume begins with this recognition and examines in greater
depth and comparatively how the translations of the Gītā did not seek
the same aims in all places and at all times nor were translation theories
and methodologies uniform across nations and eras.4 In a number of in-
stances, translation entails a flattening out of the vocabulary. It also can in-
volve a false continuity between pre-​modern commentaries and modern
discussions of the text.5 Van Buitenen highlighted the fixed-​equivalent
translation strategy—​words and the varied meanings of single words. He
looked at the breakdown between the host and the guest language (van
Buitenen 1973: xxxv–​xliii), a translation concern emphasized also by
translation theorists outlined in Chapter 1 and appearing throughout the
Gītā’s reception. At one pole we find that consistency with fixed equiva-
lents in the guest language allows one to build on philological analysis and
textual specificity. At the other pole of translation practice, we discover
the translation’s intent (dynamic equivalence) to give the appearance of

3 The issue of translation, its practices, justifications, and ethics are fascinating concerns, per-

haps even more pressing in our present era when we are increasingly moving toward the reading
of the world in translation as a preferred mode of understanding. I am thinking here of the re-
cent trend in literary studies, World Literature.
4 For an earlier study of national translation traditions, see Figueira 1991.
5 See Eder 88, cited in Palshikar 10.
 Introduction 3
modern relevance (Eder 33). These two poles of translation, their contrast
and tension delimit the sinewy paths of the Gītā’s reception. Our analysis
grapples with these very issues of translational non-​neutrality, distortion,
and the afterlife of distortion, the text’s shadow book.
‘Transnational’ (what we comparatists simply call ‘comparative’)6 sur-
veys and histories of the Gītā’s translations and reception reflect how a
range of Gītā interpretations in modern times deviates from this text’s his-
torical commentatorial readings (Sinha 297). In nineteenth-​century India,
discussions of the Gītā by literary figures and political leaders often ma-
nipulated or systematically disregarded the earlier commentaries found
in the tradition of darshanic (philosophical) commentaries on the text in
order to present it as an authentic source of statecraft. Whether by stealth
or openly, this ‘management’ of the text often resulted in neutralizing the
intellectual hiatus between the ancient and the modern (Palshikar 18). By
breaking with the Indian exegetical tradition, such translations enabled
Indians to rethink politics in a new language of action. In this manner, the
Gītā ‘gave rise to a sort of nationalist seminar, providing a frame for wide-​
ranging debates about violence, resistance, duty, caste and indeed the very
activity of approaching traditional religious texts’ (Sawhney 87). The recu-
peration of nationality under colonialism invariably entailed a process of
ego deformation (Nandy 85–​100), and the translations of the Gītā played
a significant role in this process. Once it was read outside the exegetical
context, the Gītā could more easily travel beyond its geographical home.
There are some traits specific to the Gītā that impact on its reception,
such as the heterogeneity of its narrative, suggesting the degree to which
it combines older sections with later interpolations (Larson 659) and the
text’s attempt to reconcile philosophies (Sāṃkhya7 and Yoga8) with the

6 Sinha’s (2010) notion of this reception as a transnational process of intercultural dialogue

reveals nothing more than what I would just call a comparative approach that examines the
cleavage between textual and contextual studies. Such a format is interdisciplinary; Indology
connects to the humanities, and anthropology connects to religious communities, and hence
to the social sciences. Comparative literature in the past has been the locus of such intercultural
and interdisciplinary analyses.
7 Sāṃkhya, one of the six schools of Indian philosophy, is dualistic in nature, with the universe

consisting of two independent realities, puruṣa (consciousness) and prakṛti (matter). It pro-
motes a theory of the guṇas, three modes of matter—​sattva (harmony), rajas (chaos), and tamas
(dullness).
8 Yoga, one of the six schools of Indian philosophy, differs from Sāṃkhya, its views on ontology

of puruṣa, and its soteriology.

4 The Afterlives of the Bhagavad Gītā
devotional practices associated with the rise of the bhakti (devotional)
tradition (Sinha 298). Throughout its commentary history, the Gītā has
been treated as semi-​doctrinal (van Buitenen 1962: 7–​8)9 but not ne-
cessarily as orthodox, since it presented anti-​Vedic sarcasm (2.42–​4)
and suggested some very subversive theories, such as the possibility that
mokṣa (liberation) was attainable by women, vaiśyas (merchant caste)
and śūdras (labourers) (9.32). Although the Gītā never presented trad-
itional orthopraxis (Larson 661), it was nevertheless prized as Vedāntic10
(the end of the Veda), and subject to commentaries by philosophers
such as the Advaitan (non-​dualist) Śaṅkara (700 ad), the Viśiṣṭādvaitan
(qualified non-​ dualist) Rāmānuja (1017–​ 1137), and the Dvaitan
(dualist) Madhva (1238–​1317). It was also subject to a Śaivite reading by
Abhinavagupta (950–​1016) (Bhagavadgītārthasaṃgraha) (Robinson 10,
21–​7, 57–​9, 129–​30, 213–​15). These ancient commentators generally ac-
knowledged that the Gītā presents an exposition of three paths to salva-
tion: the karma marg (action or alternately ritual action), the jñāna marg
(the path of knowledge), and bhakti (devotion).
What is particularly fascinating about the Gītā is that, given its prom-
ulgation of a rather clear (albeit perhaps contradictory) message, it
nevertheless invited the variety of interpretations that it has received
throughout its reception history. D.D. Kosambi’s observation that the
Gītā had a superb inconsistency of lending itself to any ideological slant11
gains credence time and again in the readings examined in this volume.
Some modern commentators focused on the Gītā’s metaphysics, its lit-
erary history, or its role as epic. Others read specific themes into the text.
M.K. Gandhi, for example, read the Gītā in the 1920s as promoting non-​
violence (ahiṃsā). Bal Gangadhar Tilak urged a reading of the Gītā to
promote immediate political action in the world. Then, there were those
in the extremist nationalist camp, such as V.D. Savarkar, who sought in
their reading of the Gītā justification not just for action, but for the use

9 The Gītā is deemed smarta (remembered/​traditional) rather than śrauta (heard/​revealed),

although it has been treated as distinct from smṛti by commentaries as early as the ninth century.
10 Vedānta, one of the six schools of Indian philosophy, refers to ideas that can be found in the

Upanishads, the Brahma Sūtra, and the Bhagavad Gītā.

11 See D.D. Kosambi (1965: 114–​5) about the synthetic quality of the Gītā.
 Introduction 5
of violent means in order to gain self-​rule.12 The logic here entailed an
understanding of an economy of violence. In the case of the extremists, it
was thought that the wise investment of violence in the present could di-
minish the need for violence in the future.13
It was in this vein that one of the assassins of the British civil servant,
W.C. Reed,14 Damodar Chapekar,15 took a copy of the Gītā with him
to his execution, as would others (Varma 247). In fact, during the fight
for self-​rule, if you were found to have more than one copy of the Gītā
in your possession, the British authorities took you for a revolutionary
(Minor 223) and dealt with you accordingly.16 For two generations be-
fore Independence, the Gītā was read to condone and even command ac-
tion against what was seen by Indians as the illegitimacy of the British
occupation (Klausen 184). In the 1920s the Gītā thus grew in stature,
playing a significant role in Indian social and political activism. It became
a requisite touchpoint for any Hindu leader, political or religious.
Both moderate and extremist Indian nationalists equated their under-
standing of political action with the karma yoga of the Gītā. In fact, the
yoga of action was seen as the primary teaching of the Gītā in the modern
period. The text could then be recast as promoting social change, as op-
posed to the equally viable perception that it taught the removal from
worldly concerns in a quest for personal liberation. Nathuram Godse, the
Hindu fundamentalist assassin of Gandhi, also took a copy of the Gītā
with him to the gallows. In his case, the Gītā did not legitimize the murder
of British colonial rulers, but rather his execution of the ‘Mahātma’ who
was felt to have betrayed his fellow Hindus by his ‘favoritism’ toward the

12 Gandhi held that Savarkar read the Gītā for spiritual justification for violent political action

in the past (i.e. justifying Śivāji’s killing of Afzal Khan) and the future (against the British colon-
izers) (Gandhi 1984: 37.82).
13 This logic was not too different from that found in Communism under Stalin, as Arthur

Koestler would subsequently describe it in Darkness at Noon (1940).

14 W.C. Reed was a member of the Indian Civil Service Office who was charged as the Plague

Commissioner in Maharashtra and who during Queen Victoria’s Jubilee celebration was shot
to death by the Chapekar brothers in retaliation for his insensitivity and polluting acts toward
Hindus, and particularly Hindu women who under his orders had their honor and purity abused
by searches made of their homes during the implementation of precautions to stem the plague’s
spread in Poona.
15 Damodar Hari Chapekar (1870–​98), along with his brothers Bal Krishna Hari (1873–​99)

and Vasudeo Hari (1878–​99), planned the attack that also led to the death of another official.
16 It is worth noting that the size of the Gītā contributed to this use. It was small enough to

manage, could be sold cheaply and disseminated to a new reading class of Indians (Sharpe 76).
6 The Afterlives of the Bhagavad Gītā
Muslims. We can see in Godse’s act, perhaps, the most forceful rejection
of Gandhi’s reading of the Gītā as a text promoting non-​violence, until,
perhaps, December 1992, when prior to the razing of the Babri Mosque,
there was a recitation of the Gītā by the militants assembled in Ayodhyā.
When this recitation was completed, the leaders of the assembled nation-
alist groups who had gathered at the site announced that the Battle of
Kurukshetra17 was truly about to begin. They then razed the mosque and,
in the days following the demolition, there ensued large-​scale violence.18
In a collective volume of modern intellectual history that deals with the
Gītā as an ethical text both in South Asian society as well as in its cultural
outward journey into Western politics, the authors cite Slavoj Žižek (who
seems to have an opinion about everything) and his claim that the Gītā
represented the perfect philosophy for post-​capitalist society (Kapila and
Faisal 2010: 269). This contention is certainly open to debate. But one can
support the belief that the Gītā played and continues to play a pivotal role
in Indian nationalist fantasies, whether they are dreams of imperialism’s
violent overthrow or of redefining Indian secular democracy. It is sig-
nificant that a number of the narratives presented in this volume explore
Arjuna’s dilemma of whether to fight and present the enemy as always a
brother, friend, or teacher. Modern commentaries of the Gītā are often
directed toward a future beyond the colonial state, to enemies other than
the British—​other brothers, friends. and teachers.
I approach the Gītā in this volume not from the vantage of history of
religion or Indology, but rather as a comparatist whose literary analysis
focuses on how translators and commentators choose to distance the text
from its traditional interpretation and interpretive paradigms. Any text
at a great remove from its traditional constituency engenders novel in-
terpretations. An inquiry into the patterns and dynamics of unconven-
tional readings might be foreign to religion scholars (Robinson 2006 and
Sharpe 1985), but not so to the literary scholar versed in reception aes-
thetics. I am particularly interested in what we might term the insolites
(out of the way) readings of the Gītā and how they seek to fill the hermen-
eutical gap between commentaries tied to its canonical and scriptural
status and those interpretations distant from the text’s tradition. We look

17 The battle immortalized in the Mahābhārata.

18 http://​www.sabr​ang.com/​cc/​arch​ive/​2001/​jan01/​docu.htm/​.
 Introduction 7
at the reception within a cross-​cultural context, not merely as a linguistic
problem nor just errors in the act of translation, but as having dimensions
that are conceptual and cultural (Dhareshwar 257) as well as ethical.
The Gītā happens to be ambiguous enough to justify good, bad, and
dangerous actions. Past and present readers, translators, and interpreters
seek to reconcile these possible meanings.19 But no such reconciliation
is necessary if we accept (as we do here) that the Gītā’s seemingly am-
biguous or contradictory messages concurrently serve different pur-
poses. They can be used to reflect social imperatives, philosophy, and the
interests of the masses as well as serve (more often than not) the concerns
of some elite group. Throughout the history of its reception and at various
stages of the evolution of this reception, we discover how select themes
(Buddhism, violence, detachment, caste justification) become central to
a given reading of the text. Yet, the text’s ambiguity20 continually intro-
duces new venues for creative interpretation. Neither the content of the
text nor its various interpretations ever hew together as a coherent body
of ideas. The question ultimately becomes the following: What is the na-
ture of its truth? Is it textual (even in translation) or religious?21
The contours of the initial reception of the Gītā open it to multiple
and disparate readings. Perhaps the idea of interpretation (rather than
reading) is useful here in addressing the theoretical and philosophical
premises of this volume. What we might term an ‘existential’ condition of
translation metaphorically speaks of exile, penetration, or fidelity. These
views do not help us elucidate translation as a form of reception including
a literary transaction. We may be better served by not viewing translation
as limited to a linguistic act making some gesture towards culture, but ra-
ther interpret the activity of translation as a relation with alterity. My use
of the term ‘translation’ borrows from André Lefevere’s (1945–​96) idea of

19 B.R. Ambedkar summarizes the judgements of the Gītā. He cites Böhtlingk who saw it

as contradictory, repetitious, and absurd; Hopkins who viewed it as illogical and ill-​assorted;
Telang who found it hard to reconcile its themes and harmonize them; and Műller who saw
no original philosophy in it, just half-​truths. Ambedkar himself found the Gītā bewildering
(all cited in Ambedkar 2013: 357). Of modern Indologists, van Buitenen sees it as bringing to-
gether irreconcilable traditions (1981: 16) and A. Hiltebeitel sought to bridge the difference
by delimiting the different periods of its production. David Gitomer sees the text as coming to
terms with institutions like kṣatriyahood (Ambedkar 2013: 223).
20 This ambiguity, while perhaps abetted by the text of the Gītā, can be found in any text and

certainly in any translation that is contingent upon the movement from one culture to another. It
is not a situation that is unique to the Gītā.
21 Kumar (2015: 151) poses a similar question.
8 The Afterlives of the Bhagavad Gītā
translation as a refraction or rewriting, since not all the texts examined in
these pages are translations in the literal sense. Some are ‘translations’ in
the metaphorical sense, what the field of Translation Studies terms ‘cul-
tural translation’.
To paraphrase Vivekananda, who once reportedly said that if you lost
your cow, you could probably find it in the Vedas, so too it appears that
many ideas can be found in the Gītā. It lends itself to such a variety of in-
terpretations. None of these interpretations are misreadings, since flaws
in translations are not necessarily linguistic, but also cultural. Moreover,
I do not assume any idea of some pregiven, correct reading of the Gītā,
since there are no fixed, given, or clear readings of any text. I wish merely
to show the variety of interpretations available. The Gītā could be used
to proselytize a reformed or Christianized Hinduism. It served Western
questers as a propitious exotic model, an imaginaire created in order to
work through the convoluted tension between the familiar and the fan-
ciful. Like the exotic in general, the Gītā provides an alibi (an ‘elsewhere’)
to reject the Other, reify the Self, promote false constructs, and explore
darker purlieus of being.22 It provided a good reading for Americans like
Ralph Waldo Emerson in their rebellion against the confines of evangel-
ical Christianity. It could also be enlisted to support racialist arguments
as well as offer a mystical worldview. It became, to cite William Douglas
Hill in his 1928 translation ‘the playground of Western pseudo-​mystics'
who in the 1880s–​90s produced ‘theosophical versions’ of the text (cited
in Eder 33). In the period of the two World Wars, the Gītā’s setting on
the battlefield elicited considerable commentary. Certain European
Christian readers saw in it a platform for an ‘aryanizing’ anti-​clericism
(Sharpe 39–​46). For other Westerners, particularly those caught up in the
Second World War, the Gītā provided inspiration in its call to duty or its
justification for violence. In the late twentieth century, it was adopted by
Western ecumenical thinkers as well as counter-​cultural poets and art-
ists. Throughout this reception history, the Gītā consistently provided
fertile ground for developing philosophical ideas and formulating the-
ories on language, literature, and revolution. Finally, countercultural
America with its Indomania, nurtured by touristic forays eastward and

22 For a discussion of the exotic, see Figueira 1991, 1994, 2002.

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response they were making. About midday an oasis, a mile from
Katia, was sighted, and men staggered on towards the trees and the
hoped-for water. But there was no sign of water. Rumour quickly
passed from man to man that water lay within two feet of the
surface; and distressing scenes were witnessed of men half mad
with thirst desperately digging into the sand with entrenching tools
and even bare hands in a vain attempt to find water. Fortunately the
camels arrived an hour later bringing an allowance of a pint for each
man, and undoubtedly this saved many lives.
Refreshed by the water and a lie down in the shade, parties of
volunteers went forth into the hateful desert again, in spite of their
great fatigue, to seek out and bring in those who had fallen by the
way. Through the night desultory rifle fire in front told that the
cavalry were still in touch with the Turkish rearguard, who had put
up a good fight at Oghratina, and managed to get away most of
their guns and transport, though followed and harassed by the
R.H.A. and cavalry as far as Salmana. Complete victory had crowned
the operations, as the following figures show—

Enemy’s strength 18,000

Enemy’s losses 3,930 (prisoners)
1,251 (killed and buried)
4,000 (wounded)
Total losses 9,181

The captured material included a complete Krupp Mountain

Battery with 400 rounds of ammunition, 9 German machine guns
with 32 extra barrels, 30 boxes of belt ammunition, and 9 shields,
2300 rifles, 1,000,000 rounds Small Arm Ammunition, large numbers
of pack saddles, sandbags, clothing, equipment, rockets, barbed
wire, stretchers, tools, swords, etc.; one aeroplane engine and 3
petrol tanks, 100 mules and horses and 500 camels.
The following telegram was received from H.M. the King—
 “Please convey to all ranks engaged in the Battle of Romani
my appreciation of the efforts which have brought about the
brilliant success they have won at the height of the hot
season and in desert country.”

Katia, which was bombed daily, was occupied until the 14th
August, on which date the Divisional Headquarters and the units that
had taken part in the operation moved back to Romani and Pelusium
to engage in very arduous training, and to put the finishing touches
to the new equipment after the extremely severe test that had been
undergone. The units were distributed as follows on the evening of
the 15th August—

Pelusium:
Divisional Headquarters.
Signal Company.
Headquarters, R.E.
Divisional Squadron, D.L.O.Y.
126th Infantry Brigade.
A Battery, 211th Brigade, R.F.A.
2nd Field Company, R.E.
2nd Field Ambulance, R.A.M.C.
Attached—100 Bikanir Camel Corps.
Romani:
C Battery, 210th Brigade, R.F.A.
A Battery, 212th Brigade, R.F.A.
1st and 3rd Field Companies, R.E.
125th and 127th Infantry Brigades.
1st and 3rd Field Ambulances, R.A.M.C.
 The remainder of the Artillery and Divisional Ammunition Column
were at Kantara and Ballah.
Reference has been made to the arrival of the Camels and other
camels on the night before the march of the 127th “Pets”
Brigade to Mount Royston. The Ship of the Desert
henceforward played so important a part in the operations of the
Mobile Column that gratitude demands a few words of appreciation.
A hundred, more or less, with from thirty to forty native attendants,
were apportioned to each battalion, and the troops by now would
have been unimpressed if a squadron of elephants had been
dumped upon them. The camels and their satellites were placed in
charge of the odd-job subaltern, the sergeant surplus to Company
strength, and the few simple men who would volunteer to trudge
alongside a grunting, grumbling, snapping mass of vermin and vile
odours, and listen to its unpleasant internal remarks, while gazing
upon its patchy hide and drooping, snuffling lips. British soldiers are
notoriously fond of animals, and will try to make a friend of anything
with four legs, or even with none,[8] and no doubt some of these
volunteers had visions of their sloppy, shambling charges eagerly
responding to affection, answering to a pet name, and turning soft
eyes of devotion upon the beloved master while he fondled it. If so,
they were quickly disillusioned, and soon they became prematurely
aged men, bitterly regretting the impulse that had led them to
volunteer. The native gentlemen had apparently been chosen for
their knowledge of the English language—some could even count up
to four in that tongue!—their gambling propensities, their
detestation and ignorance of camels, and their appearance of abject
misery. By the camp fire, at the end of the day’s march, they
became more cheerful as they compared thefts, smoked vile
cigarettes, and babbled of the riotous time they would have in Cairo
when they returned with their accumulated wealth. They were
handy men, however, and the Lancashire lad regarded them with
kindly tolerance, touched with the wondering pity he extends to all
who have never watched Manchester United play Bolton Wanderers.
 On the coast, two or three miles to the north of Romani, lies the
hamlet of Mahamadiyeh, which sprang into fame as the most
popular seaside resort in Africa, the battalions, with the exception of
those of the 126th Brigade guarding the railhead, being sent there in
turn for rest, recuperation, and sea-bathing. Further advance
eastward by the Division was impracticable until the railway and pipe
line had been pushed farther ahead, the present limit being a few
miles beyond Romani. Meanwhile, a position was sited east of
Oghratina to cover the extension of the railway, and this was
reached by the Division, less the 125th Brigade, 1st Field Company,
R.E., eight batteries, R.F.A., and the 1st Field Ambulance, on
September 11. A prospecting party of Engineers had located
considerable supplies of water, and the few trial wells were rapidly
increased to forty-three, supplying 9000 gallons an hour. The water
was slightly brackish, but was drunk by horses and camels. Water for
the men was supplied to units at the railhead tanks. The 125th
Brigade had been moved to section defences, the 5th Lancashire
Fusiliers to Kantara, the 6th to Dueidar, the 7th to Hill 40, and the
8th to Ballybunion. A few weeks later the Brigade was reunited at
Mahamadiyeh, where D.H.Q. was established.
For more than two months the Division shared with the 52nd
Division and the mounted troops the duty of protecting the railway
and water-pipe from raiders, the troops occupying a succession of
forward positions along the coastal road in advance of and covering
the railway, each Division returning to Romani when relieved by the
other. To pack up, load the camels, and move off to a fresh bivouac
quickly became second nature. Steadily the railway was pushed
forward towards El Arish, and alongside it a road was constructed,
the sand being conquered at last by the ingenious device of wire
rabbit-netting laid and pegged down. In this way the fatigue of
marching was much reduced. The large main through which a daily
supply of 40,000 gallons was pumped from the Sweet Water Canal
through filters to Romani, was carried forward by the Engineers, who
also erected reservoir tanks at the railhead. This supply was barely
sufficient for the men, and none of it could be spared for the
animals, so exploring parties of sappers went ahead to sink
innumerable wells and erect signboards giving a rough estimate of
the supply per half hour and the degree of salinity. They also
prepared maps of a region that had hitherto been practically
unmapped. It was an engineer’s war, and the amount of work done
by them in the face of difficulties that had been considered
insuperable was indeed amazing.
The health of the troops had suffered greatly by the prolonged
strain under a tropical sun, and a number of men had been sent into
hospital with dysentery. There had also been a few cases of cholera,
presumably contracted from Turkish prisoners and camping grounds.
A number of men, pronounced medically unfit for the arduous duties
of the Mobile Column, were formed into a composite battalion and
stationed at Kantara, where they were engaged upon guard duties
and training. In October a much-appreciated scheme of rest and
holiday cure was recommended by the medical authorities. Parties of
officers and men were sent to Alexandria for a week’s real
relaxation, and during this week they were practically free to do as
they liked. It was a novel military departure, as there was neither
work nor duty for officers or men. The change of surroundings, the
freedom, and the sea-bathing worked wonders. The coming once
more into touch with civilization had in itself a good effect; health
quickly improved, and with the cooler weather a complete change
for the better was experienced.
In October, Major-General Lawrence, having returned to England,
from the 23rd of the month until the arrival of Lieut.-General Sir
Philip Chetwode early in December, Major-General Sir William
Douglas was given temporary command of the Desert Column, the
name by which the Mobile Force was now known, Brig.-General Frith
assuming command of the Division. As Brig.-General King had been
appointed C.R.A. of the Desert Column, the command of the
Divisional Artillery was taken over by Brig.-General F. W. H. Walshe,
D.S.O., who had been in command of the artillery attached to the
Anzacs.
 The mounted troops, co-operating with bodies of The Advance to El
infantry from one or other of the two Divisions, Arish
kept in touch with the enemy, and pressed him
farther and farther to the east as the work of construction went
forward. The railway reached Bir-el-Abd, nearly thirty miles east of
Romani and more than fifty from the Canal, then to Salmana, then
Tilul, and in November the railhead was at El Mazar, about eighty
miles east of the Canal. Engagements took place at Bir-el-Abd and at
El Mazar, the latter forcing the enemy to withdraw upon El Arish,
their base and the most important town in Sinai. As each stage of
railway and water-main construction was completed the main bodies
of the 42nd and 52nd Divisions also advanced a stage. Viewed from
a distance, the slow-moving column seemed to have strayed into the
scene from out of the twentieth century B.C., as the long line of
laden camels wended their deliberate way along interminable
stretches of bare sand, or across salt lakes of dazzling whiteness, or
through undulating scrub country which raised fleeting hopes that
the desert had been left behind. Turkish aircraft continued to harass
the advance, but the bombing was rarely effective, and even the
natives of the Egyptian Labour Corps grew accustomed to the raids,
and no longer bolted like rabbits for cover when a plane was
sighted. Due acknowledgment must be rendered to these Gyppies,
who worked with admirable rapidity and cheerfulness, each gang
being in charge of a native ganger whose badges of authority were
two stripes and a stick which was freely used. While working they
invariably chanted, the ganger acting as fugleman, and the heavier
the work the louder the chanting. When they were not chanting they
were not working. It was at times fortunate that the soldiers did not
understand the words chanted. The English soldiers soon took up
the idea, and when collective effort was required, it was done to the
accompaniment of some extraordinary singing. Towards the end of
November the 42nd Division occupied El Mazar, only twenty-five
miles from El Arish, and the railway was already pushed on to El
Maadan, about ten miles further east, where an important railhead
was constructed and arrangements made for the storage of a large
water supply to be fed by railway tanks. Three or four times a week
every man had for breakfast a 1 lb. loaf baked in Kantara on the
previous afternoon.
On December 20 a concentration of all available troops was
effected at El Maadan. There were at least 30,000 men, including
natives, and 18,000 camels, marching in parallel columns as far as
the eye could reach. A rapid forward move and a surprise attack
upon the Turkish positions covering El Arish had been planned, and
the prospect of celebrating the close of the year 1916, and the
completion of the hundred-mile stage of the conquest of the desert,
by a good stand-up fight was looked forward to with exhilaration,
except by the pessimists who freely betted that there would be no
fight. In the small hours of the morning of December 21 the
company commanders received orders to prepare to march—but,
alas! back to El Mazar, not forward to El Arish, for the bird had flown
and the stunt was a “washout.” Brig.-General Walshe had gone out
in an aeroplane to reconnoitre the position for artillery purposes, and
as no sign of the enemy could be seen the pilot brought the machine
down until they skimmed along the top of the palm-trees, and made
sure that the Turk had cleared out. The disappointment was intense.
El Arish was occupied by the mounted troops and the 52nd Division,
while the 42nd gloomily marched back to Mazar. In the words of the
order: “The Turks having fled, the Division was no longer required to
fight them.”
They were not downcast, however, for any length of time. A
remark of the Divisional Commander, as he commiserated with his
men on having missed the promised “scrap,” gave rise to rumours
and much discussion of the Division’s prospects. “Never mind, lads,”
he had said, “you’ll get as much as you want very soon.” Could it
mean France, Salonika, India, Mesopotamia? Perhaps, even an
advance through Palestine—though this was scouted as too wild a
notion. But Christmas was at hand, and hopes and chagrin were laid
aside for the moment, as men’s thoughts were wholly occupied with
visions of Christmas festivities. Anticipations were fully realized; the
mail and parcels from home arrived at the right time, and the
Christmas of 1916 was thoroughly enjoyed. The rest of the stay at El
Mazar was not. The Turk had been stationed here in force and had
bequeathed a legacy of lice of abnormal size and ferocity, which
swelled the fighting strength of the Division to many times its normal
number. A delousing apparatus was brought up by train, and the
men conceded that it was not wholly ineffective—in assisting the
young lice to attain maturity more speedily, and in whetting their
appetites. There was also an alarming development of septic sores,
probably due to the filthy sand.
Meanwhile the mounted troops had been busy. On Christmas Eve
they had struck suddenly at Maghdaba, a dozen miles to the south
of El Arish, and had destroyed the garrison there, and, later, had
made a brilliant lightning raid on Rafa, about thirty miles to the east,
on the border of Sinai and Palestine. The enemy, taken completely
by surprise, surrendered after putting up a good fight.
In the middle of January 1917, the 42nd Division marched by
stages to El Arish, halting for a few days at El Bitia en route. This
place furnished a welcome change from the ordinary desert scenery
—palm groves, flat stretches of firm sand peculiarly adapted for
football, a roaring sea close at hand, and a fine beach for bathing. El
Arish was reached on the 22nd, and this was the furthest point east
attained by the Division, though the Engineers, with a Company of
the 8th Lancashire Fusiliers, spent a few days at El Burj, ten miles
beyond. At El Arish wells were sunk at the edge of the beach where,
to every one’s surprise, excellent water was found in abundance only
twenty yards from the sea. A very bad sandstorm was experienced
here, and there were periodical but ineffective bombing raids by
aircraft. Before the end of the month the Division, less the squadron
D.L.O.Y., was ordered back to the Canal, their destination being
Moascar, near Ismailia.
 BIR EL GERERAT. BIVOUACS.

A “HOD” OR OASIS OF DATE PALMS.

TURKISH LINES AT MASAID.

EL ARISH.
 EL ARISH.

The heavy sand through which the guns had The Work
been hauled and the difficulties of the water supply Accomplished
for the horses had provided a hard test of the
endurance and skill of the Divisional Artillery, and it is greatly to the
credit of the batteries that they had overcome all obstacles. Men and
horses had become accustomed to desert trekking, and at the end
of a day’s march the bivouacs were prepared, the horses watered,
and everything running as smoothly as under peace-time conditions.
On Christmas Day the batteries had (on paper) been formed into six-
gun batteries, but the scheme was not actually put into operation
until the Division had returned to the Canal zone.
As in Gallipoli, the Divisional Signal Company had been kept
continuously at work and had displayed energy and efficiency
beyond praise. Every task that had been set them—and their name
was legion!—had been done well. The Supply details of the A.S.C.
had accompanied the Division during the six months’ operations in
the desert, and it may safely be said that no Division was better
maintained in the matter of supply. The R.A.M.C. had formed mobile
sections in each Field Ambulance, and two of these with camel
convoy had accompanied each infantry brigade, and had shared
their experiences. In spite of the heat and the shortage of water the
desert life had on the whole proved healthy.
The magnitude of the work accomplished in the desert may be
estimated by the following figures—

Railways 360 miles

Pipe lines 300 ”
Roads 220 ”
Timber Hurdles 800 ”
Timber for hutting 2,000,000 square feet
Wire netting 50,000 rolls
Barbed wire 7,000 tons
Cement 2,000 tons
Sandbags used 30,000,000

The defence of the Suez Canal had now been made secure. The
revolt against Ottoman rule in the Hedjaz had broken out, and the
Turk was in no mood for further adventurous enterprise.
Henceforward he would confine his energies to defensive operations,
and would ask nothing more than to hold his own.
The infantry entrained for Kantara, en route for Moascar, during
the first days of February, and though the hundred-mile railway
journey was far from luxurious the troops were glad enough to be
spared the weary march back to “th’ Cut.” They had watched the
railway grow mile by mile, and their interest in it was almost that of
a proprietor, but this was the first time they had ridden upon it for
any distance.[9] Most of the units halted for a day or two at Kantara,
a station with which they were familiar enough. Here the only
subject for comment seems to have been the remarkable number of
gulls that swarmed overhead at meal times. The mention of these
birds will remind many officers and men that the 42nd Division made
very useful contributions both to the knowledge of the fauna of the
Sinai Peninsula and to the supply of animals to the Cairo Zoo. Many
desert mice and rats, lizards and tortoises reached the Zoo alive, and
one rat was so exalted by the prospect of introduction to Cairo
society that it gave birth to a healthy litter while in the parcel post.
Insects of great interest and rarity, and of peculiarly local
distribution, were sent to the Ministry of Agriculture at Cairo twice a
week for six months; and species entirely new to science were
discovered. A battalion of the Lancashire Fusiliers, from the R.S.M.
and the Cook-Sergeant down to the sanitary men, took to collecting
and nature study with great ardour and much success.
Divisional Headquarters and the Signal Company From East to West
arrived at Moascar on February 4. On the 6th, 7th,
and 8th the various units (less the 2nd Field Company, R.E., which
proceeded direct by rail to Alexandria) set out from Kantara on the
two-days’ march to Moascar along the new road by the side of the
Canal. The change from the soft sand of the desert to the hard road
was a sore trial to the feet, and a big proportion of the men limped
rather than marched into Moascar. All ranks now knew what most
had suspected for some time, that the Division was bound for
France, and there was general enthusiasm. The prospect of a
change from the sand, the glaring sun, the discomfort of intense
heat, the monotony and isolation of the desert, was hailed with joy
by the majority. A number of officers and men had not been home
since September 1914, and knew that there was little chance of
home-leave while the Division remained with the Egyptian
Expeditionary Force. Yet there were some among those who had
been out longest upon whom the spell of the East had fallen, and
who were disappointed that, having accomplished so much of the
preparatory work, they, like Moses, could only see the Promised
Land from afar, and were not allowed to go forward into Palestine.
While at Moascar the Division was inspected by Lieut.-General Sir
Charles Dobell, commanding the Eastern Force, and it also marched
past General Sir Archibald Murray, Commander-in-Chief of the
Egyptian Expeditionary Force. An event of even greater moment for
men who had been nearly twelve months in the desert was a week’s
visit from Miss Lena Ashwell’s Concert Party. The troops were
grateful and appreciative, and they showed it unmistakably.
FLASHES OF UNITS IN THE 42ND DIVISION.
 In view of the impending change every man now required serge
clothing, winter underclothing and service cap. The field-gun
batteries were established on a six-gun basis, and two artillery
brigades, the 210th and 211th, were formed out of the three
existing brigades of four-gun batteries. The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Field
Companies, R.E., were re-numbered as the 427th, 428th, and 429th
Field Companies respectively. Many details left behind during the
advance across the desert rejoined the Division, as did also the R.A.
Base at Ballah, and the instructors and staff of the Divisional School
at Suez. This school had done most useful work, a large number of
officers and other ranks having been put through a series of short
courses, and much progress had been made in bombing and in the
use of the Light Trench Mortar, or Stokes Gun.
To the great disappointment of all ranks it was decided that the
A.S.C. should remain in the East, as a new 42nd Divisional Train had
been formed in England to join the Division on its arrival in France.
There was sincere regret on both sides at the severing of
comradeship. The Divisional Train left Kantara early in March to join
the 53rd Division, to which it was attached during the operations
against Gaza. On the formation of the 74th (Yeomanry) Division it
became the 74th Divisional Train, took part in all operations with
that Division in Palestine, went with it to France, and remained with
it until disembodied. The Divisional Squadron, now with the 53rd
Division, was engaged in the first and second battles of Gaza. Later,
it was attached in turn to the 60th and 52nd Divisions in Palestine
and Syria; it took part in the third Battle of Gaza, in numerous
skirmishes, outpost affrays, and pursuits, and shared in the honour
of the great campaign that brought Turkey to her knees.
Before the end of February all preparations had been completed,
and units had entrained for Alexandria. On March 2, 1917, the last
transport left the harbour, and, after two and a half years of service
in the Near East, the 42nd Division was at last on its way to the
Western Front.
 CHAPTER V
FRANCE
(March-August 1917)

The voyage westward across the Mediterranean was made under

conditions widely different from those of the outward journey of
September 1914, when “glory of youth glowed in the soul,” and the
glamour of the East and the call of the unknown had made their
appeal to adventurous spirits. Familiarity with war had destroyed
illusion and had robbed it of most of its romance. The Lancashire
Territorials had a very good idea of what to expect in France or
Flanders, and were prepared to face minor discomforts and worries
with the inevitable grousing which proclaims that all is well, and real
privations, perils, and horrors with steadfastness often masked by
levity. Though the Mediterranean was at that period infested by
enemy submarines, the vigilance of the British and French navies
proved a sure shield. One torpedo only was fired at the troopships,
and this passed between the log-line and the stern of the Megantic.
A call was made at Malta, and on March 1 the first transport
anchored in the magnificent harbour of Marseilles, and D.H.Q. at
once entrained for the North of France.
The railway journey of sixty hours to Pont Remy, near Abbéville,
will not be forgotten. Men who had at much cost become
acclimatized to the intense heat and dryness of the Sinai Desert,
were suddenly plunged into the opposite extreme of an arctic
climate. The winter of 1917 was one of the most prolonged and
severe on record, and throughout the tedious journey in French
troop-trains the men shivered and trembled with the bitter cold. But
if France greeted them freezingly there was no mistaking the
warmth of the welcome of her sons and daughters. Wherever the
trains stopped the inhabitants gathered round to cheer them on their
way. The news of the fall of Bagdad had preceded them, and the
French women and girls, old men and children, knew that these
were victorious British reinforcements from the East, and Bagdad
and Sinai were equally remote.
The troops detrained at Pont Remy in a storm of snow and sleet,
and marched through deep, freezing slush to the villages in which
billets had been prepared. After six months’ experience of open
bivouacs wherever the day’s trek ended, the barn billets were
something of a novelty. Reorganization and re-equipment were, of
course, the most urgent matters to be dealt with, and the refit was
carried out expeditiously. The short Lee-Enfield rifle displaced the
longer rifle with which the Division had been armed; and the issue of
two strange items, the “tin hat” and the box respirator, provoked
some hilarity. Baths, each capable of washing sixty men per hour,
were erected by the R.E., and henceforward the Division left its mark
in the shape of new or remodelled baths in every area in which it
was located. The Divisional Cinematograph and Canteen were also
inaugurated here. The last troops from Egypt, the 5th East
Lancashires and the 9th Manchesters, arrived on March 15. A new
Divisional Train joined from England. This train had already had
considerable experience of France, as it had been formed to join the
Lahore Division in September 1914. Motor ambulances were supplied
to the three Field Ambulances, and a complete train of motor-lorries
was attached to the Division. The 42nd Divisional Ammunition
Column was formed from a nucleus of the former Brigade
Ammunition Columns with the addition of a large draft from the R.A.
Base in France. A Heavy (9·45-inch) Trench Mortar Battery and three
Medium (6-inch) T.M. Batteries were also formed here, and these
became a part of the Divisional Artillery. Three Light T.M. Batteries
were attached to the Infantry Brigades.
On the arrival of the Division in France Major- General Douglas’s
General Sir William Douglas left for England in Farewell
order to give evidence before the Royal
Commission appointed to inquire into the Dardanelles Campaign.
Temporary command of the Division was taken over by Brig.-General
H. C. Frith, C.B. (125th Brigade), until the arrival of Major-General B.
R. Mitford, C.B., D.S.O., who assumed command about the middle of
March. Much regret was felt by officers and men that the general,
who had been responsible for the training and organization of the
Division in time of peace, and under whose leadership during two
and a half years of war it had served with distinction in two
campaigns and had “made good,” should be unable to lead them to
the gaining of fresh laurels on the most important of all fronts. They
had been fortunate in a commander who had ever taken a personal
interest in the welfare of all ranks under his command, and who had
identified himself with the Lancashire men and was jealous of their
good name. That General Douglas regarded his officers and men
with affection is clearly shown in his farewell message—

“In bidding the 42nd Division good-bye I wish to express

my heartfelt thanks to my Staff Officers, Commanders, and
Regimental Officers for their loyal and whole-hearted support
and superb work during the period of my command. My
admiration for the conduct, fighting qualities, grit, and
endurance of all ranks is profound. Never have I met a more
responsive, willing and lovable lot of men than these
Lancashire lads, and, to my last days, I shall remember with
affection and pride the three and three-quarter years that I
have had the honour to command them. I know how well
you, officers and men, will add to the great name you have
already earned for the Division, I wish you the best of good
fortune and a rich reward.”

Towards the end of March the Division moved to an area some ten
miles east of Amiens, D.H.Q. being established at Mericourt. The
42nd was now a veteran Division in war and in travel, but in the
trenches of France it was in the position of a new boy at a strange
school. It had learnt much in the old school, and the experience
would be useful. Each unit had a record and tradition of which it had
good reason to be proud, and the commanders knew that their
officers and men could be relied upon. Endurance and courage had
been severely tested, but the endurance required for slogging
through deep sand under a tropical sun was of a very different
nature from that which would now be demanded, and the intense
heat of the desert was a poor preparation for the bitter winds, the
snow, sleet and freezing mud of the trenches of France. Much had to
be learnt in the new school, and much unlearnt.
In Gallipoli the opposing trenches had often been only a few yards
apart, and rifle-fire had continued all day and increased in violence
at night. In that sector of the Western Front taken over by the
Division the recent withdrawal of the enemy had created a No Man’s
Land, which might be anything from 10 yards to 1000 in width, and
unaimed rifle-fire was uncommon. Here, too, patrolling was a matter
of nightly routine, whereas in Gallipoli more than an occasional
patrol had been impossible. Two of the most novel features were the
gas and the amount of H.E. shelling. It was the Division’s first
experience of gas, and on rare occasions only had it witnessed
annihilating shell-fire. Never before had any of the original members
been in billets, and they found them and their inhabitants a source
of interest and comfort. Some felt hurt that the bits of Arabic picked
up in the East were of no use here, and they resolutely refused to
learn any French. “I’ve learnt Gyppo, and I’m not going to bother
with any more foreign languages.” Imagine their delight when on
leave in Amiens they found that the paper-boys (who had come into
contact with the Australians) knew the meaning of “Imshi!” This
word, being the imperative of the Arabic verb “to walk,” did duty for
“’op it!” Possibly the most striking differences of all were that the
Division got reinforcements after suffering casualties, and was able
to get back into “rest” of a real kind after a trying time in the line.
The strength of the Division on April 1 was 727 officers and
16,689 other ranks.
Advance parties had been sent ahead of the New Experiences
Division, and now other parties of officers, N.C.O.s
and men were attached for short periods to battalions and units of
the 1st Division in the front line trenches that they might see and
understand the conditions of warfare on the Western Front, before
the Division should be called upon to take its place in the line that
stretched from the Belgian coast to Switzerland. The enemy’s
retirement from the Somme and the Ancre to the Hindenburg Line
had upset the plans of the Allies for a spring offensive. The recently-
vacated German trenches were visited, and the scenes of appalling
devastation, the shattered remains of what had once been
flourishing villages and farmsteads, gave the troops their first
impressions of France’s martyrdom, and filled them with indignation
and loathing. They had heard and read of the ruin and desolation in
Belgium and Northern France, but the half had not been told. The
wanton destruction of fruit-trees and the desecration of cemeteries
were acts dictated not by military necessity but by beastliness of
mind.
Throughout this preparatory period the troops were kept busily
employed upon the badly damaged roads, and—as occasional
opportunity offered—in the attempt to make the entente still more
cordiale. Feuillieres, Biaches, Herbecourt, Flaucourt, Dompierre, and
Peronne were visited by various units, and the sappers constructed
bridges to take heavy guns and lorry traffic over the Somme at Brie
and elsewhere. Not only had the enemy blown craters at most of the
cross-roads, but, east of Peronne, he had felled the trees that line
the main French roads, and these had to be removed. This work of
clearing up after the German retreat was of great importance, and
the Division gained an insight into conditions on the Western Front
as the troops approached the line. Where possible the ruins of farms
and houses, swarming with rats, were used as billets, but the road-
makers usually slept in cellars, dugouts, and holes. The wretched
weather continued and there was heavy snow in April. The horses,
so long accustomed to an eastern climate, suffered greatly and
began to deteriorate, some succumbing to pneumonia. The boots
which had been issued just before leaving Egypt were quite unsuited
to a bad winter in Northern France, and they fell to pieces quickly.
Each day a number of men had to remain in billets until new boots
could be obtained from Ordnance Stores. A number of officers and
men, however, refused to be worried by such insignificant details as
boots, for were they not going home for the first time since
September 1914? During the month batches of these veterans
departed for fourteen days amid the rousing cheers of their
comrades.
At Peronne, where D.H.Q. was opened on April 14, every building
was badly damaged except the Town Hall, which was at once placed
out of bounds because of this immunity, as any place that appeared
to invite occupation was regarded with suspicion, owing to the
typical Boche habit of leaving delayed-action mines and other
“booby-traps.” Peronne Town Hall did not, however, go sky-high, as
was daily expected. In the village of Peiziere some officers of the
126th Brigade took up their quarters in a house that had been left in
good condition. Fortunately one of them took the precaution to
explore and found a quantity of high explosive hidden under the
beams. They cleared out. Next day a shell dropped on the building
and it vanished. An R.A.M.C. orderly in the vicinity was lifted several
feet in the air by the force of the explosion. “Eh, that wur a near
do!” he said, as he picked himself up carefully and resumed his
journey.
The Division now formed part of the 3rd Corps of the Fourth Army.
On the 8th of April the 125th Brigade took over a portion of the line
from the 48th Division at Epéhy, in front of Le Catelet, and a few
days later the 126th Brigade also went into the line, in order that as
many battalions as possible might have a short experience of front-
line conditions before the Division as a whole assumed responsibility
for a sector. The front here had become practically stationary, and as
neither side had a continuous trench system the connecting of posts
proceeded nightly, and patrolling and digging were the chief
diversions. The 7th Lancashire Fusiliers was the first battalion to go
into the line, which they advanced, after a sharp skirmish, to a copse
about half a mile ahead. They were relieved on April 12-13 by the
6th L.F., and during the relief Malassise Farm, in which were a
number of men of both battalions, was heavily shelled. The building
was destroyed, and the fall of the roof buried about fifty of these
men in the cellar. Though the shelling continued with great violence,
admirable courage was shown in extricating the buried men, and for
this the Military Medal was awarded to a private of each battalion.
The Division’s first trench raid on the Western Front was made by
the 4th East Lancashires at Epéhy. On April 28 the 126th Brigade
advanced their line successfully, but the 4th and 5th East
Lancashires suffered rather heavily.
Throughout April the wintry weather continued, but the unfailing
spirit of the British soldier under depressing conditions is shown in
the following anecdote related by an officer of the 4th East
Lancashires: “The rain was pouring into my dugout, and the water
slowly rising, so to avoid a fit of the blues I went along the line to
see how the men were faring. A sentry was standing in mud half up
to his knees, his hands numbed and wet, and a stream of water ran
from his tin hat. By way of comparing notes I asked this pitiable
spectacle what he really felt like. ‘Like a flower in May, sir,’ was the
cheerful reply, and I was cured of the blues.”
On May 3 the Division took over from the 48th Division a sector in
the neighbourhood of Ronnsoy, south-east of Epéhy. As Brig.-General
Ormsby was engaged in marking out the new front line of his
Brigade near Catelet Copse, the enemy suddenly opened a
bombardment, and he was struck in the head by a piece of shell and
killed. General Ormsby had been in command of the Brigade for
more than twelve months, and during that period he had become
very popular with his men and had gained their respect and
admiration. Lieut.-Colonel H. C. Darlington, 5th Manchesters, once
more assumed temporary command until the arrival of Brig.-General
the Hon. A. M. Henley, who remained in command of the 127th
Brigade until the end of the war.
Two brigades were in the front line and one in reserve, with a
system of four-day reliefs. The long winter was over at last; summer
had arrived without any introduction by spring, and the weather was
now gloriously hot. There was a good deal of local fighting,
especially around Guillemont Farm, an enemy post which more than
one division had found by no means difficult to capture, but
exceedingly difficult to hold. Several night attacks were made by
companies and platoons, in one of which, on the night of May 6-7,
the 9th Manchesters established forward posts in the face of heavy
machine-gun fire, and Private A. Holden was awarded the Bar to the
M.M. for volunteering to bring in the wounded, and afterwards going
out into the open to make sure that none had been missed. He
found a wounded officer and helped to carry him 400 yards on a
heavily shelled road, and went out again to assist another injured
man to safety. He succeeded in this, but was himself wounded. The
enemy artillery was generally active, and on one occasion some men
of the 126th Brigade were quite grateful to the German gunners. A
heavy shell, which fell among some ruined cottages, threw up a
number of gold and silver coins, dated a hundred years ago and
evidently a long-buried hoard.
On May 23 D.H.Q. moved to Ytres, about eight Epéhy and Ytres
miles north-west of Epéhy, the Division relieving
the 20th Division on a newly-captured sector running from the Canal
du Nord, south-west of Havrincourt, to a point south of Villers
Plouich, through Trescault and Beaucamp; and here the Division
remained until July 8. This was a fairly quiet sector, and during the
first few weeks there was no event of any importance to vary the
daily round of digging, wiring, and strengthening the trench system
and the patrolling of No Man’s Land. Havrincourt Wood in the spring
of 1917 remained a very beautiful spot amid the chaos of war.
Though the “hate” of the Boche was less demonstrative than in
many sectors his trench-mortars and machine-guns were generally
busy at night, and considerable annoyance was caused on the right
of the line by a trench-mortar which—so it was conjectured—was
brought up every night on a light railway, and taken back after a few
shots had been fired. At sunrise the clamour of the guns ceased and
the birds at once “took over,” the cuckoo being particularly active.
Nightingales were common here and in the copses in the line, and as
they seemed to regard machine-guns as rival vocalists, they would
sing in competition. The bell-like whistle of the black and yellow
golden oriole was often heard, and in the centre of the wood the
war at times seemed far enough away. The A.S.C. turned their
hands to hay-making, and helped to cut and harvest some acres of
excellent clover, rye, and lucerne. The 3rd Field Ambulance were
more envied by their fellows, as they harvested—for their own
consumption—the crop of a very prolific strawberry bed in the
garden of the ruined villa which they inhabited at Ruyalcourt.
A quartermaster of the 127th Brigade had chosen the ruins of a
farm at a cross-roads near Havrincourt Wood for his dump. He was
warned by the Town Major that this spot had probably been mined
by the enemy, and particularly warned not to make use of the cellar,
which was a likely place for a “booby-trap.” However, nothing
happened, and of course his men not only went into the cellar but
took planks and bricks therefrom to improve their quarters in the
rooms above. One evening the Q.M. returned from the line to find
his staff in a state of nervous collapse. As soon as he had prevailed
upon them to sit up and take a little nourishment they related this
painful story: The former owner, armed with documents and
accompanied by gendarmes and British Military Police, had visited
the old home, descended into the cellar, and dug up jars containing
jewellery, coins, and banknotes, within a few inches of the spot from
which the storemen had taken the planks. The butcher had even
held a candle to assist the search, and his reflections on “what might
have been,” as the jars of buried treasure were brought to light,
completely unnerved him, especially when the owner handed him a
couple of francs with thanks for the trouble he had so kindly taken.
For some time after this these storemen displayed a rabbit-like
tendency to burrow in any old corner, but luck was not with them.
One night when the Brigadier of the 127th Brigade was in the
front line the enemy put down a fierce bombardment of gas shells
and H.E. The night was dark, but calm and clear, and large working
parties were out wiring and digging. These came back “hell for
leather,” and General Henley found his passage through the trench
cut off by the crowds. Colonel Dobbin, deeming the scene unseemly
for a Brigadier, suggested a dash over the top. Unfortunately fresh
wire had just been put down, and, close to the support line where
the long-range shells were dropping, both fell heavily into a double
apron-fence. They extricated themselves painfully, leaving portions
of clothing and some blood on the wire, and eventually arrived,
“improperly dressed,” at Battalion Headquarters, to be met by the
adjutant with the tactless remark: “There has been a bit of a
bombardment, sir, but it doesn’t concern our front.” The Brigadier,
who limped for several days, suggested that his companion should
write a sketch of the episode under the title, “Young officers taking
their pleasures lightly.” Though the Colonel did not take advantage
of the suggestion, another officer did.
Brig.-General H. C. Frith, C.B., returned to England in June to
assume command of a Home Service Brigade, and Brig.-General H.
Fargus, C.M.G., D.S.O., took command of the 125th Brigade until the
end of the war. General Frith was the last of the General Officers
who had served with the Division from the outbreak of war. For three
years he had commanded the Lancashire Fusilier Brigade, which had
become much attached to him, for he was quick to recognize and
give credit for good work, and he possessed a remarkable memory
for faces, invariably knowing each officer by name after the first
meeting. The 6th Manchesters learnt with regret that their popular
M.O., Captain A. H. Norris, M.C., who was home on leave, had been
retained by the War Office for duty at home. A better-known and
better-liked Medical Officer never served with any battalion, and the
regret was not confined to officers and men of the battalion, for the
sick and wounded of many units were grateful for the energy,
solicitude and complete disregard of self—and of red tape—which he
had displayed in looking after their comfort and welfare in Egypt,
Gallipoli, Sinai, and France.
On the 1st of June the order was received to The Front
advance the divisional front by about 300 yards, Advanced, June
the operation to be completed by 6 a.m. on the 1917
10th. The order indicated that strong opposition might be expected,
and details were left to the Brigadiers. The 126th Brigade on the
right adopted the orthodox method of sapping forward each night,
making a T-head at each sap to connect and form a continuous line
later. The expectations of opposition were realized. Photographs
taken by enemy planes brought heavy trench-mortar and machine-
gun fire on the working-parties, and serious casualties were inflicted.
A position near Femy Wood was occupied at night by the enemy,
who were thence able to harass the working-parties. On the evening
of June 3rd Corporal A. Eastwood, 9th Manchesters, took a patrol of
three men to this point and lay down to await events. At 9.30 p.m. a
German patrol emerged from the wood. The corporal ordered his
men to hold their fire until the enemy were within thirty paces, when
they opened fire with good effect, and remained until 2.30 a.m.
covering the work and silencing a machine-gun and snipers. The
hard and rocky nature of the ground in this part of the line was a
further obstacle, but in spite of all difficulties good progress was
made, and the troops were complimented upon their work by the
Chief Engineer of the Corps. On the left, Brig.-General Henley,
profiting by the experience of the 126th Brigade, decided to
complete his part of the operation at one bound. On the night of the
8th-9th he advanced his line the full distance, and all four battalions
of the 127th Brigade began to dig in furiously. The covering party
was in position at 10.30 p.m., and digging began at 11 p.m. under
the supervision of the 427th Field Company, R.E. Before dawn
twelve outposts on a front of 1500 yards were linked up by a
continuous trench, and, leaving a skeleton garrison in the new
trench, the companies returned to their positions practically
unharmed. The finishing touches were added next night, and the
new line was completed by the stated hour. This good work was
rewarded by a Special Order of the Day from the Corps Commander.
The night patrolling in No Man’s Land furnished admirable
opportunities for testing and training officers and men. These patrols
appealed to many adventurous spirits, while others looked forward
to their first experience with natural apprehension. Many patrols
were therefore sent out with the primary object of giving the men