Page 14  Perce's Letters

 

Monday, 26 January, 2009 12:05:53 PM

 

LETTERS FROM UNCLE PERCE THAT WERE PUBLISHED IN THE JERILDERIE HERALD AND URANA ADVERTISER - Friday, March 20th 1917.   

THE BATTLE OF POZIERES

The following letter was written from France by an old Jerilderie boy in the person, of Private Percy SMYTHE to his parents who now reside in Sydney. The writer is one of four brothers at the front.  

“Well, we have been through the battle and you will have read all about it long before you get this.  We beat Fritz, beat him easy, he would not stand up and fight like a man, but fled before us and then turned and tore us to pieces with his artillery.  Nearly all my mates are gone.  Mrs. Morgan’s son Percy is among the fallen.  He was buried to the neck and while someone was digging him out, another shell came and blew off his head off.  Do you remember Sgt. Woods? of the 7th Refects who used to do fancy jumping?  He was killed, so was Eric Connelly, who was my dugout mate on the Peninsula.  A and B Companies lost all their officers.  Howie, who was our Sgt. Major at Liverpool, is now the OC of A Company and Tyson is the OC of B.  He and I went through Hell together.    A week ago, I was one of a machine gun crew of nine men and now I am the only one left.  Five were killed, one wounded and two missing (probably killed) and even the gun was blown up.  We went into action just after midnight on Sunday morning.  Our battalion was in support to the 1st, which made the charge and I was in the reserve machine gunners – a rotten job as the reserves generally get the worst of the shelling.  Soon after the fray started we got a false order to fall back, causing no end of confusion.  The machine gunners and A & B Companies got in a rare mix-up.  Two of my crew were killed about this time and were not seen since.  We had nothing to do but put up with the shelling and wait till we should be required in the firing line.   

Went to sleep in a bit of a hole which was supposed to be a dug-out and awoke later to find myself buried to the armpits.  A shell had blown my dug-out in.   Got my head out and called for someone to come and dig me out, after which I went to the dugout of another chap of my crew.  A few minutes later, a shrapnel shell wounded him in the leg and killed another fellow alongside.  Bandaged his leg up and as he was suffering a  good deal of pain,  I let him have the dug-out to himself and as accommodation was difficult to find, had to share a dugout with a  corpse and in spite  of the grim  presence  slept soundly.  Things were comparatively quiet all Sunday, in the afternoon.  I suddenly awoke under the impression that something was biting my leg and found a small piece of shrapnel sticking into it through the putties, she stung some too.   

In the evening two of my gun crew and I got together in a bit of a trench which was not much used.  As it afforded a little protection we collected haversacks and water bottles left behind by wounded men and fared well, our victuals including sweet biscuits, bread, butter, jam, cheese, bacon, sardines and chocolates.  We slept there and stayed together all Monday morning.  On Monday Fritz bombarded the village of Pozieres where our front line was and he was using some big shells too, sometimes and we would see great branches of trees go hurtling skywards.  On Monday afternoon I was told off with a couple of other chaps to reinforce the guns in the firing line, that night the bombardment became more intense and it was no fun I can tell you.    A and B Companies relieved C and D and one after another, I began to hear of my old mates going.  There were two pathetic messages going up and down the trenches all night “Stretcher bearers on the right” – the word would go from mouth to mouth.  The other message was even more touching – “B shovels wanted on the left, more shovels on the left” and so on.  A man came staggering along the parapet calling for the OC.  He collapsed exhausted and struggled to his feet, only to fall again.  Two of us helped him down into the trench and with choking words he gasped, in grim exaggeration “There’s a battalion buried on the left”.   During that night the remaining three of my gun crew were either blown up or buried.  I stood the nerve strain well and came through smiling until I took a hand in the digging out some buried men, which is the most heart-breaking task I’ve ever had.  Four men were buried in the communication trench and I went to their assistance and worked for dear life.  Am not too strong physically and it played up with me a treat.  Rescued a chap, who was completely buried except his face and  fingers of one hand.   While we were working, a big shell landed near by knocking two of the workers, one beside me staggered back and I thought he was killed but fortunately it was only a wound in the face.  Two of the buried men were got out alright but the other two were deeply covered and it took nearly an hours solid work to get them out.  The other chaps were for giving them for lost but I urged the on, hoping that it might be possible to effect resuscitation.  Could not bear to let them go while there was still any hope of saving them.  Tried to set up artificial respiration with one of them but could not manage it so went and called up the doctor.  Left the job to him and went back to the firing line.  Have not heard how he got on with them.   

Was sent back to second line trench to fetch up the last of the … gunners and while there met a company of ………making a charge on us.  They had lost their way and arriving at the trench I could hear some of them saying, “Is this them?  Are these the Germans?”  We didn’t half roar on them either!  It was a relief to us when daylight came, especially as we were to be relieved in the morning.  A Company was without Officers and practically devoid of non-coms and a number of men breaking down under the nerve strain left and went back to the rear.  Every man wounded was regarded as being very lucky.  I saw a madman rambling down the communication trench trying to catch hold of something he could see in the air and I envied him.   A prisoner was brought in and his face was thin and pale and drawn and we pitied the poor beggar.  A sergeant wanted too kill him but we would not hear of it.  In our own affliction we could well sympathise even with our enemies.  At some time after daybreak there was a lull and we began to hope Fritz had taken a tumble to himself the bombardment up till this time is reckoned to be equal to anything known at Verdun but one could not describe what followed.  It was the lull before the storm.  A salvo of four big shells came over and then the place was converted into an absolute Hell.  It was awful.  It seemed as if the whole face of the earth was being churned up.   Clouds of earth and branches of trees were hurled sky- wards, while clods and lumps of chalk were falling all round.  When a shell came near the dense cloud of black smoke converted daylight into darkness and the smell and the smuts were vile but worst of all was the terrifying nerve-racking roar of the explosion which was indescribable.  (The conclusion of this letter will appear in our next issue).  

Jerilderie Herald and Urana Advertiser - 6th April, 1917  

BATTLE OF POZIERES – FORMER JERILDERIE BOY’S EXPERIENCES  

The following is a continuation of the letter written from France by Percy SMYTHE, an old Jerilderie boy, whose parents now reside in Sydney.  The first part of this letter appeared in our last issue:-  

Out in front the same storm of shells raged, Tyson left the trench at this time and together we ran forward together through the heaps of smashed bricks and splintered timber which had once been Pozieres.  Found some more of the gunners and stowed ourselves in shell craters but place was untenable so we decided to try and get to the 8th Battalion who were somewhere in the front on the right, having crept out in the night and established themselves in shell holes, in order to give Fritz a surprise when he should counter attacked.   

However we were unable to locate them, so made over to the left to get away from the shelled locality, on the edge of where the village had been, there were the remnants of a hedge and beyond that open fields, where no shells were falling, we got out into the fields and made for a narrow strip of wood about three or four hundred yards away and then Fritz spotted us and bullets came flying all around.  His shooting was very erratic, however, for we all got safely into the belt of timber, our own artillery for some reason or other had been silent all the morning, at last opened out and to our exasperation began landing shells all around us, it was (a) very discouraging mistake, however, must have been reported by our aeroplanes, for after a while they left us in peace save for an occasional visitor from Fritz. 

Our nerves were considerably affected and we would get jumpy if a shell lobbed 50 yards away.  We stayed in the wood all day and got back to the 3rd line trench under cover of darkness, stayed there a night and the next day the battalion was withdrawn from the trenches and we came right out to beyond Albert.  There were three men whom I admired, especially for their bravery during the trying period when we were shelled out, they were no braver than the others but they kept so cool and calm through it all.

 One was our CO Colonel Price, who though I have said hard things about his treatment of his men, will live in my memory as a hero, he was the only man I saw smile during that awful bombardment, he stayed in the trench until everybody else had gone out in front and when at last we took a refuge in the wood, he took his handful of men, less than a dozen of them digging a trench there to prepare a line of defence until the 6th Battalion came up and reinforced us, in the end though the Germans practically obliterated our firing line trench, we finished up with another newly made trench further  advanced though a little to the left.  The other two men were Lieut. Buckley one other officer, who seemed to go through it all without flinching and Cpl. Jagow our MG corporal, who through his ready wit and pleasant smile had vanished, yet kept cool and acted deliberately and stuck to his gun and his men until he was killed later in the day. 

The English papers are giving a rather incorrect version of the battle of Pozieres; making out it was only after terrible fierce hand to hand fighting that the village was taken.  All the men I have spoken to who were in charge said it was a walk over for them, Fritz making no attempt to put up a strong resistance.  On Sunday morning the charge took place.  Monday morning they began worrying us with artillery and on Tuesday morning they gave us Hell.  During the whole action the majority of us never fired a single shot or saw a German, save those who were taken prisoner.  English war correspondents, speaking of the bombardment on the Monday say it was equal to anything seen at Verdun.     

 

His experiences in this battle led Uncle Perce to write a poem about it some time later.     

A MEMORY 

 

                          The flautist played; and music, sweet and low,

                          With soft caresses old-time memories woke,

                          And long past scenes from bonds of lethe broke,

                          And I beheld red poppies all aglow

                          Like fiery mantle drape the earth below;

                          I heard a heaven-rending sound that broke

                          The still of dawn, while sable clouds of smoke

                          Plunged dark and reeking round a scene of woe.

 

                         Men cower trembling in a shattered trench,

                         Unnerved with noise and blood and foul smoke-gust,

                         While shrieking shreds of steel through soft flesh tear.

                         Brains frenzied reel; stark hands in death-throes clench,

                         The whole creation’s blasted into dust.

                         Hell’s fury falls on shuddering Pozieres.

 

Percy SMYTHE

 

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