Showing posts with label Ulster Division. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ulster Division. Show all posts

Sunday, 16 December 2018

The Spirit of the Province (1917)

Reprinted by kind permission of the Editor of the “Morning Post.”

Foreword.

The Empire’s Honour is the Honour of its Mighty Dead. This Honour They have left a legacy to the generations yet unborn. Those who have made the Supreme Sacrifice are watching. Unseen they still march in our ranks.

To this Host Invisible, Immortal, and very Glorious Ulster gives salute—

“No Surrender!”
God Save the King!


ULSTER AND THE WAR.


I. — WHAT THE PROVINCE HAS DONE.

“I am the Land of their Fathers,
    In me the virtue stays,
 I will recall my children,
    After certain days.”

A political truce was proclaimed in August, 1914, but a month later it was deliberately violated to the prejudice of Ulster. It has been violated repeatedly since, and always with injurious results to the Imperial Province. The loyalty of any other people would have been killed by the treatment Ulster has received. No accusation has been too foul, no lie too gross, no infamy too monstrous for her defamers. Ulster had made answer in deeds not words. She- has done her duty and is satisfied. She has sent her sons to fight in every theatre of the war, in numbers which far exceed the combined total of the three other Provinces. More than 80 per cent, of all the money contributed by Ireland to the War Loan was raised in the area around Belfast. To the various War Charities she has given vastly more than the rest of Ireland, more, indeed, in proportion, than England herself has done. Two great general hospitals, four equally large special hospitals, oon-valesoent homes, a splendid Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Service Club, a fleet of motor ambulances, and a fund at present amounting to £100,000, to provide for the future of Ulstermen broken in the war, are among the many things furnished by Ulster. She has besides supplied an enormous and ceaseless stream of munitions, ships, and linen for the manufacture of aeroplanes without those dislocations of labour that have stained1 the industrial record of other centres of activity. These facts silently answer her traducers. Ulster refused to accept expulsion from the heritage of full citizenship in the Empire in which she is happy to live, and which she has helped to create*.

What Has Been Accomplished.

Between April, ’1912, and August, 1914, Ulster had her back to the wall. Ehiring that time the stem determination of the Province to resist expulsion from the Empire was made the subject of a solemn compact— the Covenant of Ulster. For two years her people had poured out their money and energies like water, had given up their leisure, and had converted themselves from helpless civilians into well-trained and disciplined soldiers, for the purpose of resisting the change that was to transfer their allegiance from the Parliament of the United Kingdom, at Westminster, to an Irish and Anti-British Parliament in Dublin. For two years the people appealed by delegate and by pamphlet to their brethren of England and Scotland, to be met only with scorn and abuse. The Ulster Imperialists were to be sold like sheep in the market-place by a Government desirous of purchasing, at any price, the favour of Irish traitors. These Imperialists had been driven to the last argument of persecuted peoples, the argument of force, when, on August 4, 1914, the persecutors themselves were suddenly compelled to realise what it meant and what it costs to be confronted by a better armed enemy. On the day when war was declared between Great Britain and Germany, how did Ulster act? Did she return evil for evil Did she seek her own? Did she make bargains, or say: “ Give me this and that, and I will consider rny actionsV1 On August 3 Sir Edward Carson wrote to the Lord Mayor of Belfast, calling on the men of the Ulster Volunteer Force—at that hour a complete, disciplined, and efficiently - equipped Army — to enlis*t. On the same day, by Sir Edward Carson^ orders, the General Commanding the Ulster Forces instructed all Divisional and Regimental Commanders throughout the Province to take a census of their men, in order to discover how many would be willing to volunteer for Imperial Foreign Service. It was the supreme test of their loyalty. They had armed themselves, not for aggression, but for Imperial defence. Their Empire was threatened, and not for a moment did they waver. “Rally to the Flag, put aside all quarrels, our arms are for our King,” was their answer.

Before the week was out it was evident that the Ulster Volunteer Force could place a Division in the field, and keep at the same time within its ranks all those men who from age, or because of employment on war work, were ineligible for foreign service, these last named to be employed for Home Defence. Without delay the whole powerful and perfectly organised machinery of the Ulster Unionist Council — the future, if fate so decides, Ulster Provisional Government — was put into operation. Politics were abandoned, and, in the Ulster Hall, on September 3, Sir Edward Carson addressed his followers. The Ulster leader, who had never betrayed his trust, said:
Sacrifices must be made. If an English Government has acted dishonourably and unjustly by us, are we entitled to desert the Empire while it is battling for its life? However badly we are treated, and however badly others act, let us act rightly. I say, do right; if you are betrayed the result will fall in due course upon the shoulders of your betrayers. Do right. Go and help to save the Empire, go and win honour for Ulster! God bless you and may He bring you home filled with honour and with victory.

The Home Rule Act had been placed on the Statute Book, in the hope of obtaining Irish Nationalist support for the war, and this in utter defiance of the political truce that had been agreed upon. The Ulster folk felt within themselves that patriotism such as theirs could only be given freely, without price. After all, they reasoned, had not Imperialism been the cause for which they had ever stood? If the cause was the same did it matter whether the struggle to uphold it was carried through at home or abroad; did it matter whether the enemy was German or Irish? No, the Ulster people could not cast out the heroic from their souls. As one man they leapt to their feet, and gave their answer in cheers.

The Ulster Division.

The War Office accepted the Division offered by Ulster. Led by Sir Edward Carson and Colonel James Craig in person, the North Belfast Regiment of the Ulster Volunteer Force that same day, September 3, marched to the Ulster Unionist Council Headquarters — converted temporarily into the Central Belfast recruiting station — to enrol. They passed through streets densely crowded with women who, according to Ulster custom, had gathered to encourage the stout of heart and trample — not altogether figuratively — upon those who held back. Like wild-fire enthusiasm spread. The East Belfast Regiment was filled with envy, while the Southern and Western Battalions of the city caught the patriotic spirit of the time. They also marched in to attest Surely never was an army so democratic as this one. The Division was comprised of Ulstermen born and bred, and the rules which governed it were Ulster made. The rank and file had stipulated upon one thing; they must be permitted to select their own officers, and the men they choose to lead them in France were the men who had trained and led them in Ulster. With this calm, strong, and practical people it is efficiency, and efficiency only, that counts. They do not believe in human equality. They are content that some should rule and others serve, but they see to it that the best govern, and that the best take the lead. In the Imperial Province — never was title better deserved — there was no ill-feeling, no jealousy, hatred, or malice between class and class. A common danger, common interests, and real affection united all. "Go and help the Empire!" That order was obeyed irrespective of class. Football and cricket teams under their captains came in and took the oath. Employers facilitated their employees to join up, joined up themselves, and arranged for the aiding of their workers’ families, keeping positions open, and settling sums, varying from 25 per cent, up to the total wages of salaries earned, to be paid in proportion to the number of dependants. Ten days saw the Division organised and fully equipped. Nor must it be left unstated that the greater portion of the accessories, such as cycles, motors, medical and commissariat stores, belonging to the Ulster Volunteer Force — “Carson’s Rebel Army” as it was termed — were unhesitatingly placed at the disposal of the Elmpire.

But what has been said does not fully describe the work done for the Empire by the Ulster Volunteer Force under its leaders, particularly Sir Edward Carson.

It was clear that the task of clothing the million men asked for by Lord Kitchener would be extremely difficult. It could not be carried out before six months at least had elapsed. Realising this, two prominent Belfast citizens, gun-runners like all the rest, made the offer to the Government that, free of all remuneration, they would procure the materials and make the uniforms for the Division. The offer was accepted. In three days an immense warehouse* was commandeered, close to the Central Recruiting Station, Belfast, a large staff was installed with the utmost speed, and not only the uniforms, boots, &c., but likewise all the numerous articles that make up a soldier’s kit were forthcoming. But whence and how it was done remained a mystery, although the greater part of the material was certainly of local manufacture. The effect upon the recruits of at once receiving their uniforms was excellent, and in addition to this the War Office was saved many thousands of pounds. In an incredibly short time, on all the chosen camping-grounds, well-drained, ventilated, and comfortable huts were erected, and the Ulster folk had the pleasure of seeing their troops housed and sheltered long before their fellow-subjects in England and Scotland had the same satisfaction. Next came the question of feeding Ulster’s Army, and once more patriotism and ability removed all difficulties. It was the same everywhere and with everything throughout the Province. Should the Empire for what has been achieved desire to reward Ulster, which is unlikely, then let the Empire reward and honour Ulster’s Leader, Sir Edward Carson.

The Ulsters in Action.

The sword half-drawn in her own defence,
In Ulster’s strong right hand,
Has leapt from its scabbard,
And flashed like fire
For the common Motherland.

And where the fight was fiercest,
And the sternest task was set,
Ulster has struck for England,
And England will not forget.

Ulster placed in the field at the outbreak of hostilities 60,000 trained men, more, as has been said, than the three other combined provinces of Ireland have yet mustered, this not including the thousands upon thousands of Ulstermen who rallied to the Flag from the Colonies or the Reservists who had served in the Regular Army. On May 8, 1915, the Division left for England, where on October 23 it was reviewed by the King, at Seaford, and received the Royal thanks. Shortly afterwards it embarked for France. On the morning following this final review on English soil the Nationalist Press flung after the Ulster soldiers a parting insult:
It is a notorious fraud, this army of Ulster. Three-fourths of the men are semi-cripples who could be hunted out of an English barrack square by a dozen drummer boys. Carson’s Volunteers will never hear the whizz of a German bullet, nor will they fire a shot at anyone unless they are assured beforehand that he is unarmed and defenceless.

Yet even under this insult Ulster kept silent, being content to wait for the hour that should prove the gallantry of her sons. This proof was not long delayed. At dawn on July 1, 1916, the Ulstermen led the great attack upon the German position in Picardy. The task allotted them was stupendous, some said impossible, but with right good will, with glad hearts, shouting their ancient slogan and chanting their Ulster war songs, they set out to accomplish what they had to do. The assault was launched after a violent bombardment. The Ulster battalions emerged out of the Thiepval woods under a fire of the most terrible description. To quote from an eye-witness:
When I saw the men emerge out of the smoke and form up as if on parade I could hardly believe my eyes. Then I saw them attack, beginning at a slow walk over “No Man’s Land,” and then suddenly let loose as they charged over the enemy’s trenches shouting, “No surrender, boys.” The enemy gunfire raked them from the left, and machine guns enfiladed them on the right, but battalion after battalion came out of that awful wood as steadily as I have seen them do in their Ulster camps. The enemy’s first, second, and third lines were soon taken, and still the waves of men went on, getting thinner and thinner, but without hesitation. The enemy’s fourth line fell before these Ulster troops who would not be stopped. There remained the fifth German line, and those who looked on declared “no human beings could take it.” But mindful that it was the anniversary of the victory gained by their ancestors on the Boyne the Ulster troops pressed on and conquered the impossible.

As a British officer said: “This attack was one of the greatest revelations of human courage and endurance known in the world’s history.” Thus was given another of Ulster’s unspoken replies to her traduoers, and if any fair-minded inquirers question her patriotism and her Imperialism in the future let them count the dead she left at the beginning of July, 1916, beside the Ancre. In spite, however, of all, there are still found British people — so-called — who cast aspersions upon Ulster’s sacrifice.

The Fallen Heroes.

Eleven days later the Imperial Province saluted her fallen heroes. For the first and only time since the war had broken out the Ulster folk at home paused in their labours for the Empire. By common consent, for five short minutes at the stroke of noon on July 12, 1916, all work and movement was suspended. In the great flax mills, where day and night for three long years, the weavers and spinners have plied their looms to produce linen for use in the manufacture of aircraft, in the huge shipyards where the hammers have thundered defiance since August, 1914, in shops and offices, in the streets and markets, in trains, in the poorest cottages and in wealthy homes, in the hospitals, besides munition machines, on the lonely country roads and in the fields, men and women stood still for five minutes, bowed their heads, and thanked God for the honour He had bestowed upon their Province and upon themselves individually. At that noontide Ulster’s sorrow was turned into fierce joy.

Home Forces.

Sixty thousand Ulstermen, not reckoning, as has been said, the Regular Army Reservists or the Ulster Colonials, left the Province between 1914-16 on active service. Since then every day has brought in fresh recruits to this original Ulster force, now, alas so diminished. But Ulster has still her reserves — her home troops. The Volunteer Force is still in existence, its ranks filled by shipwrights, factory and munition workers, older men and young boys, and behind this last line of defence stand the women. Well, indeed, it is for Great Britain and her Allies that this Ulster reserve force had not been disbanded or weakened — at least morally. Had it not been for these Ulster reservists April, 15, 1916, might have proved a disastrous dav for Great Britain and her Allies. When on that date the Irish rebels, with the connivance and support of their German friends and paymasters, hoisted the Irish Republican standard in Dublin and openly declared war upon Great Britain, overpowered the Imperial troops, shooting down sick and wounded soldiers, and attacking the lives and property of loyalists in the capital, who called them to halt? Who gave them blow for blow, and held them at bay until the arrival of the reinforcements from England? The Reserve Army of Ulster. As usual, the Government was unready and unprepared, but, as usual, Ulster was both ready and prepared. Down came the gates of the Imperial Province, bolted and barred, as in the Siege of Derry, by old men, boys, and women. It was “No passage this way for the King's enemies.” To the distracted Government across the Channel the indomitable Northerners sent prompt assurance: they could hold the country till the arrival of fresh troops. Hundreds of gigantic motor transport lorries, and as many private motors, the private property of Belfast citizens, were within a single hour loaded with Volunteers, rifles and ammunition, and despatched to the seat of action. The greater portion of the police were withdrawn from the City and surrounding country, and the women and boys kept the peace unbroken. It was the same oft-repeated tale. England's difficulty had again been Nationalist Ireland’s opportunity to rebel, pillage, and murder, while England’s difficulty had once again been Ulster's opportunity to prove her loyalty, her love, her Imperialism.


ULSTER AND THE WAR.


II. — THE SPIRIT OF THE PROVINCE.


“On the walls the citizens were drawn up in three ranks. The office of those who were behind was to load the muskets of those who were in front. The women were seen in the thickest fire serving out water and ammunition to their husbands and brothers.” — “The Siege of Londonderry,” Lord Macauley.


As one approaches Belfast from sea or land the first object that meets the eye is a colossal crane, one of the loftiest and mightiest in the world. Unlovely and gaunt, it starts up into space, a sign in iron of the iron-willed people who toil beneath its shadow, a sign of the Province that has never feared or shirked the heavy burden of Imperial responsibility. The soil upon which the crane stands was, only two generations ago, covered by the sea, but the Ulster folk drove back the sea and built upon the captured ground the two largest shipyards in the world. The Ulster people had determined to make the small fishing village of Belfast one of the greatest seaports in the Empire, and they did so despite almost insurmountable difficulties. The entrance to their harbour was shallow, and choked by sand shoals, so they cut a channel wide and deep enough to float the huge liners which, at first, existed only in the imagination, but which they have now made a reality. They were possessed of neither coal nor iron, so they brought both to their shores, shipload after shipload. They were not assisted by so much as a penny of Government money, but financed all themselves. They were a small people, compassed on all sides by enemies, and handicapped by Nature as well as by circumstances, yet they conquered. Requiring and desiring greatness they attained to it, and to-day this greatness is at the service of the Ehipire.

Character of the People.

Impassiveness to outward excitements and distractions is one of the prominent features of the Ulster character. When these Northerners undertake a task or duty nothing can hinder or divert them from accomplishing it. Every chapter of their hard and troublous history proves them to be a breed that has never known failure. In August, 1914, the industrialists of Ulster, silently and with deliberation, swore to play their part in defeating Germany, and from that day to this they have doggedly and ceaselessly striven to make good their oath. They felt honoured in finding that their support and help were so urgently needed by the Empire, and that they were considered competent to give it. There is at least one place in the Kingdom where, although there is much noise, there is no talking, and, in consequence, no strikes. That place is Ulster. Its people realise that in this war pounds, shillings, and pence must be sacrificed as well as lives and limbs. “Have you had any visits from the Red Flaggers here?” I inquired last week of a stolid-faced riveter in the Belfast shipyards. An emphatic nod was the answer. “What did you do to them?” I asked. The reply was a flash of steely, work-tired eyes, and a downward jerk of a thumb in the direction of an exceedingly uninviting pool of oily water. From this flash of the eyes and thumb-jerk I learnt the treatment meted out in Ulster to those traitors who, while living under the protection of Britain at the expense of British blood, in order to profit themselves and indirectly the enemy, go to and fro over the country creating civil strife, stirring up class hatred, and paving the way to a revolution which they fondly hope may paralyse the Allied Armies, and enable the German Emperor and his military advisers to obtain peace on their terms. The Ulster folk have learnt, by bitter experience, to discriminate between loyalty and treachery, and if they had the reins of government in their hands half the cranks and pacifists would long ago have been hanged as high as Haman. “He'd be a loony that wud try on a strike here,” remarked another of the Belfast shipwrights; “we've got too much to do these days to stan’ such ‘codology.‘”

Out to Beat Germany.

Here, again, in one brief sentence is Industrial Ulster's attitude towards the war. The people have too much to do to think of themselves, or politics, or creeds, or, in fact, the well-being in the abstract of the universe. They are out to beat Germany, and until this has been done they cannot rest; and that is the reason for the absence of strikes in the Province. These workers have a gigantic task on hand, and they have to get on with it, so, through winter and summer, on Sundays and holidays, their furnaces have belched and flamed, their thousands of hammers and hundreds of looms have clanged and whirled, and their great, strong hearts have beaten with exultation. Ships for the Fleet and Merchant Service, and millions of webs of linen fabrics for aeroplanes, have been supplied by the Ulster people, not only for their own but also for all the Allied forces. Shells are needed, and will be forthcoming so far as the Imperial Province is concerned. For slackers and strikers who would “squeal” among them the Ulster industrialists have nothing but contempt and loathing. As a community they have always been conscious of power, and this confidence in themselves has been called self-conceit and egoism. At the present hour they have come to believe this power to be inexhaustible. It is the belief in their own ability to remove mountains, it is this egoism, that has made them what they are, and surely their self-conceit and egoism are pardonable at the present crisis.

“Liberal" Assistance.

It has been shown how they built their shipyards and factories. Scarcely less remarkable is the tale of how they have contrived to solve, without class strife or bitterness, many of the social problems still unsolved by their fellow-subjects across the water, how they have abolished most of the social evils upon which, to serve their own ends, the anti-Imperialists and treacherous “Humanitarians” are now harping. No one can doubt it is patriotism and Imperialism that steel the nerves and sinews of the Ulster workers to endurance, but the splendid and patient warfare which they are waging could not possibly have been undertaken or have proved so productive of great results had friction, ill-feeling, or suspicion existed between employers and workers. It seems scarcely credible, but it is none the less true, that during the last ten years or so, while a self-styled "Liberal” Government at Westminster was securing votes by despoiling one class and bribing another, the Ulster people were quietly proving their democratic principles by investigating the grievances and difficulties of all classes, and, so far as it lay in their power, removing them. In this they were greatly assisted by the "Liberal” potentates at Westminster. Not that Mr. Asquith and his party wished to promote the well-being and prosperity of Ulster. On the contrary, they were only too anxious to bring the gallant little country to ruin. Nevertheless, they unconsciously rendered Ulster a great service. By threatening the rights and liberties of these Northerners, they succeeded in cementing into a solid whole all classes in the Province. A common religion, a common cause — Imperialism — common interests and aspirations, all of these when imperilled brought about a close psychological communion between the rich and poor, between employers and employees. Gradually and patiently, even under the dark shadow and dread of civil strife and coming ruin, these indomitable people worked out their own salvation. Without talk or fuss, without “taking from Peter to give to Paul,” they combined to organise labour, to establish local justice, to promote health and contentment; in short, to make life better worth living for everybody. Masters of industry began to study their workers and sought their friendship; employees responded, and goodwill grew into real affection. Decent houses, fitted with all that is necessary for human health and comfort, were built and let at low rents, and to-day many of the Belfast artisans have become the proprietors of their own dwellings. Thanks to the excellent municipal administration, Belfast taxation is low, and the Ulster capital has long boasted the lowest percentage of pauperism and unemployment of any city or town in the United Kingdom. In the country districts the same happy state of things has been brought about. Farmers till their own land, and the smallest worker has a good house over his head and plenty of food in his stomach. In the counties where Unionism predominates the agricultural labourer has a higher standard of wages than in any Nationalist county.

Masters and Men.

“How do you manage your men?” I inquired of one of Belfast's largest employers of labour, a man who has over 20,000 workers. “Manage them!” he exclaimed, somewhat annoyed.
Get all that sort of idea out of your head. My employees are free men, as free as you or I. Did they want to give trouble and hinder the war they could do so, but they don’t. If I told you that they do not strike or grumble because they are patriots, sportsmen, and gentlemen you would probably not believe me; so all I can say is they are well paid, they are treated with courtesy and consideration, and they do their very best in return. It's easy to see when they have a grievance, and when this occurs I go to them and ask them point-blank what the trouble is, and between us — mind, it’s always been us - we set  everything to rights. They did not like this dilution of labour, for example. Well, we considered the question and considered the war, and we came to the conclusion that it was a case in these days of putting up with lots of things we all don’t like — and then the matter dropped. They will endure everything and anything, I tell you, in order to win the war; they are the best in the world. We masters and men have always got on fairly well together in Ulster. Over here there’s never been much bad feeling between those who control and those who are controlled, but I date the real friendship that now exists between employers and employees from the first year of the Home Rule crisis. At that time, just as now, we forgot everything except that we were Imperialists. Will it surprise you to hear that, when the Ulster Volunteer Force was formed, I was a ranker in my regiment and was ordered about by one of my own workers? He was the better man of the two where military matters were concerned, and, in confidence be it spoken, it gave him a lot of trouble to lick me into shape. That man is now in France in charge of a company, but we hope to get him back when the war is over. There is one thing we’ve always tried to do, and that is to keep our men in work and pay. In the days previous to the war, when things were slack, we used to make work for our people, and so never lost touch with them, and they never had their tempers ruffled or their health impaired from lack of means. Now, here’s one example of how decent they are, how they tackle things. Not long ago the Government wanted a big job done in a hurry. Mind, we had more on hand already at the time than we could get through. The other yards over the water declared they could not complete it under seven weeks. We called in our men and consulted with them. They undertook to carry out the order within fourteen days, and they kept their word — but they worked the twenty-four hours through!

Trade Unionists Not Socialists.

Let there be no mistake: the Ulster industrialists are as strong trade unionists as are to be found anywhere, but they would fight Trade Unionism itself if it ventured to interfere either with their consciences or their personal ideas of right and wrong. There is a Trades Council in Belfast, as in other industrial centres, but it has not got the support of the vast masses of the trades unionists in the Province because the Council, instead of promoting the principles of Trade Unionism and Imperialism, had adopted Socialism, which, in the Ulster workers opinion, is entirely opposed to either their own or their Empire’s interests. It has been said that much of the present industrial unrest is due to the rise in the prices of foodstuffs, &c. This may be so, but the cost of living is just as high proportionally in Ulster as it is in Glasgow, Leeds, or Newcastle-on-Tyne. Yet these Ulster workers, week by week, unasked and of their own free will, give a portion of their wages to the benefit of the War Charities. In the shipyards they have formed a committee and elected a representative whose business it is to distribute the funds. In the Ulster Volunteer Force Hospital the various trades have endowed beds, and the wounded soldiers who occupy these beds are regarded by the donors as their special property and charges. There is scarcely a man in the yards who has not given generously to the Patriotic Fund for the Ulster wounded, which now amounts to close on £100,000. The workers of one yard alone, that of Messrs. Workman, Clark, invested £60,000 in the War Loan, while the City of Belfast subscribed over £28,000,000.

The Spirit of Ulster.

This, then, is the spirit in which the Ulster people are fighting. This is the spirit which has enabled them to get through in their two big shipyards twice the amount of work which has been done in some other yards in the United Kingdom during the past three years, and which gives them strength to toil unrestingly for from 74 to 107 hours per week. It is this spirit which alone can bring peace and victory to the Empire and the world. The peace, however, for which they look, and for which they work, must be of an enduring character, based upon the triumph of those things which make for the betterment of mankind. Humanity is passing through the furnace of affliction, but that ordeal will have been endured in vain if it does not give to our Empire a sweetness and a safety to which it has too long been a stranger.


ULSTER AND THE WAR.


III. — SUCCOURING THE SICK AND WOUNDED.


But to keep this one stormy banner flying
     In this one faith that none shall e’er disprove,
Then drive the embattled world before thee, crying:
    “There is one Emperor, whose name is Love.”

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Private Quigg, of Bushmills, County Antrim, was one of the many recipients of the Victoria Cross gained by Ulstermen during the present war. The official account of his exploit is as follows:
He advanced to the assault with his platoon three times. Early next morning, hearing a rumour that his platoon officer (the son of the chief landowner in the district where he was born) was lying out wounded, he went out seven times to look for him under heavy shell and machine-gun fire; each time bringing back a wounded comrade. The last man he dragged in on a waterproof sheet from within a few yards of the enemy’s wire. He was seven hours engaged in this most gallant work, and finally was so overcome with exhaustion that he had to give up.

It is said that when summoned before the authorities to be questioned as to the why and wherefore of his action he remarked: “Would ye have had me leave Mister Harry with them devils? Him and the others, weren’t they all me own kin?” It must here be stated that the bond uniting these Northerners is so strong that they regard one another as kinsmen even when there is no blood relationship. On Quigg’s return home his friends came out to welcome him, but they did not make much boast about his bravery; they took it rather as a matter of course. "Ay, he’s a guid, kind lad,” declared the women; “but they make a queer fuss over wee things yonder. Didn’t he only do what he had to do, so why blether sich a ween about it?” He only did what, in the opinion of his fellow-country people, he had to do, namely, sacrifice his own life, if need be, for his kindred.

The Ulster folk, though a progressive people, are still in some ways curiously primitive. Beneath their cold, calm exterior burn fierce, strong passions. They love as they hate — furiously, and the deadly indifference and luke-warmness, the ennui and pessimism of modern civilisation has never touched them. Their simple, severe religion teaches them to defend and cherish their friends and pitilessly to smite their adversaries. They are, too, exceedingly jealous of their rights and their possessions. According to their way of thinking Quigg was merely doing what they all would have done under the circumstances, that is to say, getting back what was his own from the rascals who had filched it from him. Taking these traits of their character into consideration, it is not surprising that so little is known of the wonderful and perfectly organised work which they are doing for their sick and wounded. This is their business, and they are not given to discussing their private and sacred affairs.

It must be remembered that as a people they were confronted with the possibility of bloodshed for more than two years previous to the outbreak of present hostilities. Long before August, 1914, they had been preparing for evil days. Not only in their drill halls, but also in their hospitals and homes, they had been making ready to cope with whatever the future might bring. Consequently, they were more fitted than were their fellow-Britishers to grapple with the suffering and difficulties which war creates.

September, 1914, saw Ulster’s Civilian Army incorporated with the Imperial Forces. Shortly after this event the Ulster Unionist Council made an offer to the War Office of a fully-equipped hospital for the use of all sick and wounded soldiers and sailors. The gift was accepted, and in the shortest time possible this hospital was in complete working order. It was established solely by the contributions of Ulster people of all classes, both rich and poor. All who worked in it gave their services voluntarily, and its equipment was found by the Ulster Volunteer Force, who had put their organisation and resources at the disposal of the authorities.

Home of True Socialism.

From this one hospital has sprung seven others, all under the same control — a Committee of business men of all ranks and callings, who, having built up the various great industries and trades of their country, were prepared to devote the same energy and intellect towards the re-creating and re-establishing of the broken health and broken lives of the men who had served the Empire.

If the motto of early English Socialism means anything when it declares that “it is the one great and universal interest of the human race to be cordially united, and to aid each other to the full extent of their capabilities," then Ulster is to-day the home of Socialism. No sooner had the first Ulster casualty list appeared than up surged the fierce Northerners jealously for their own. “Give us back what is ours,” was the cry, and, after much deliberation, the War Office acceded to the demand so far as to hand over to the Province all its totally disabled, limbless, and nerve cases. Whereupon, without delay or hesitation, the following notice was made public in every district, town, and village throughout the country:
Ulstermen! your generosity and loyalty in the past has never failed, and the Ulster Volunteer Force Hospital Committee feel assured that they can rely upon the province in the future to support, with the same liberality and patriotism, the greater and more far-reaching efforts which they are obliged to undertake to benefit the men who have answered the Empire’s call.

The reply to this appeal may be seen in the perfectly-equipped and perfectly-organised hospitals already mentioned, which have been, like the first, entirely established by voluntary contribution, and are staffed by voluntary workers. So, as Private Quigg went out across “No Man’s Land” to get back his own kin, in the same way does Ulster go out to the ends of the earth to bring back its children.

There is nothing showy or outwardly splendid in the appearance of these Ulster hospitals. In a grassy open place on the outskirts of Belfast, round the huge Central Hospital, where the sick and wounded are nursed back to convalescence, stretches a veritable labyrinth of low, verandah-encircled, cheery-looking buildings. Here is the big hostel where the limbless and orthopaedic cases are lodged and fed; further on are the curative workshops, the open-air and indoor gymnasium, the limb-fitting rooms, baths, photographic studios, laboratories, recreation, billiard and reading rooms, a bowling green and tennis courts, and lastly, the factory where the artificial limbs are manufactured. In these curative workshops and gymnasiums, under skilled medical and surgical supervision and by special treatment, paralysed and distorted bodies are made straight and active, and the maimed are given and taught to use new limbs.

Trades for the Wounded.

As to the factory, one of the most modern of its kind, in it the limbless are instructed in the art of limb-making and repairing, and are carefully fitted with the limbs they require. Little by little, as the weeks and months go by, the sufferers are guided back along the road to health and happiness, and when their cure is complete they are handed over to the charge of the Employment Committee — a branch of the Central Committee — which, like the latter, is composed of a few business men and many Trade Unionists, under whose direction the discharged soldiers are re-established in the trades and industries in which they were employed before the war broke out. Local opinion is against teaching men fresh trades if there is the slightest possibility of their being able to follow their old ones. The idea is rather to invent special implements by which those who are deformed or who have artificial limbs are enabled to continue their former work. It also rests with this Committee to see that the discharged men, on quitting the hospital, do not lapse into idleness and sit down to live and do nothing on their pensions. In this matter the Trade Unionists render invaluable service. By methods best known to themselves they contrive to keep a close and friendly grip upon their war-weakened kinsmen, and in nine cases out of ten they succeed in getting them firmly upon their feet.

The most recently-founded hospital in this great healing colony is the one set apart for the treatment of neurasthenia. Here, in the midst of a wide, wooded park and flower gardens, in the cool, quiet rooms of the home so generously given up by Colonel James Craig, one of Ulster's finest sons, shattered nerves and tired bodies are soothed, comforted, and made whole. This hospital is one of the only two hospitals for neurasthenics at present in the Three Kingdoms.

So much for the central colony of hospitals, but beyond this inner ring are others — some situated on the sea coast, some amongst the hills where patients are sent who require change of air and scenery. Attached to the Central Hospital is a fleet of motor-cars and ambulances. These cars form what is known as the Ulster Volunteer Force Motor Corps, and the Empire has reason to remember the excellent work it did in carrying troops, munitions, and rifles to Dublin during the rebellion in April, 1916. It is no exaggeration to say that the entire resources of the Province, public and individual, have been placed at the service of the Hospital Committee and the patients. Doctors and surgeons, nurses and cooks, give their services free of remuneration. Farmers and landowners freely supply eggs, fruit, vegetables, and flowers. Theatre and cinematograph proprietors grant free passes to the inmates, the municipality carries them without cost on the trams. Practically the whole city is open to them, and parties are invited to hundreds of homes from time to time. In fact, nothing is left undone which might in any way help to alleviate suffering and distress.

All this naturally entails constant and heavy expenditure, but the burden is borne by all alike. Nor is it enough for these people that money should be forthcoming to-day. Being canny folk they look ahead, and are providing for the morrow, so that the future shall not embarrass those responsible for the work. To be sure, the Government has undertaken to pension soldiers and their families, but Ulster people do not place much confidence in Government promises, knowing by bitter experience that these are as easily made as they are easily broken. Provision had therefore to be made for the year to come, and another public appeal was issued calling on the inhabitants of the Province in the name of Empire to subscribe to the Ulster Volunteer Force Patriotic Fund — a fund for the permanent relief of Ulster soldiers and their dependents, and also of all Britishers enlisted in the Ulster regiments and the Ulster Division whose cases might not be provided for by the Government.

Ulster’s Munificence.

Within a few weeks the Fund just named had swelled to nearly £100,000, and as time goes by the sum is steadily increasing. It has, indeed, become as much a religious as a patriotic duty to give to it. In every village, in every town, in the markets, the factories, the shipyards, and in the schools sub-committees have been formed to raise the money necessary, and woe betide the man or woman who would withhold his or her substance. Moreover, in addition to this the Ulster people have taken upon themselves the care and, as far as possible, support of their own prisoners of war. Through the medium of the Ulster Women’s Prisoners of War and Gift Fund over £1,500 worth of foodstuffs and comforts are dispatched each month to the Western and Eastern fronts and to the German prison encampments, and in this case again the money is entirely found in the Province.

Nor must it be thought that in their anxiety to assist and heal their near kindred these Northerners have been selfish or indifferent to the sufferings and needs of their fellow-Britishers and the Allies. Over and above the huge sums which they have subscribed and are subscribing to the upkeep of their hospitals and for the benefit of their soldiers and sailors, they have up to the present given into the various British and Allied war charities well over £400,000, and in spite of hard times this is daily being augmented. When compared with the enormous funds raised in London and Glasgow the offering of the Province may seem trivial, but it is only fair to recollect that Ulster is a small place, and its wealth is confined to six counties. Belfast alone contributed £28,000,000 to the War Loan; Glasgow contributed millions more than this, but of each it can be said — it did what it could.

The Ulster people have hitherto, and most unjustly, been regarded as inhospitable. They are, however, only too well accustomed to injustice, and have long since learnt to pursue their own course undisturbed by the sneers and falsehoods of their detractors: yet in this “inhospitable” and "avaricious” city of Belfast there is an immense Service Club, with many branches, where, as honoured guests of the citizens, hundreds of soldiers and sailors find warm welcome, shelter, baths, food, and entertainment, where accommodation and furnishing are that of a good hotel rather than a barrack. The clannishness of Ulster men is proverbial. Wherever half a dozen of them are to be found should one be in difficulties the other five will make it their business to care for him. It is the manifestation of that spirit over a whole province, and indeed world-wide, that explains what Ulster has done, and is doing, for those smitten by the fortunes of war.

In their determined deliberations to do all in their power to bring about victory they have proved themselves true patriots. Ordinary interests and animosities have for the moment been laid aside. They have come to realise that what has endowed them in the first instance with their freedom is their power of doing right — in other words, contributing from their own particular centre to the social and Imperial well-being. “They are saving themselves by their own efforts, and they will save others by their example.”

"We Will Maintain."

Tuesday, 19 July 2016

The Sons of Ulster


No dream of glory lured them forth
    From the fair land they loved so well;
No martial ardour fired their hearts
    And held them by its subtle spell.
Theirs were the arts of peace, content
To labour for earth's betterment.

But when the hour of danger struck
    They heard their, country's call, and laid
Aside the tasks of every day –
    The scholar's gown, the gear of trade.
Heedless of self, they took their stand
For God, for right, for Motherland.

True sons of an Imperial race,
    Proud of their glorious heritage,
Strong with the strength that freedom gives
    To those who honour's conflicts wage,
They feared no foe save treacherous ease
When duty beckoned o'er the seas.

Dauntless they faced the risks of war,
    And quelled not when the order came
To charge across the fatal field
    Through the grim battle's furnace flame.
Heroes they fought and heroes fell,
Unconquered and unconquerable!

Oh, Ulster homes where sorrow dwells,
    A guest that will not be denied,
Admit another inmate, too,
    For on the threshold standeth pride.
Mourn, but be proud, and at grief's shrine
Let laurels with your cypress twine.

Sentinel hills by Belfast town,
    Watch for the dawn of victory's day,
And for the ships that homeward bring
    Conquerors returning from the fray!
Ulster shall greet with glad acclaim
Sons who have won her deathless fame.

And what of those who come no more?
    Under the kindly soil of France
Sleep their bodies by battle worn,
    But they have made the great advance,
Crossing death's frontier, out of strife
Into the realm of endless life.

JAMES E. ARCHIBALD.


Poem: The Witness, 21st July 1916.
Image:  Group of the Royal Irish Rifles, 36th Ulster Division, before parading for the trenches. Near Bertincourt, 20 November 1917. © IWM (Q 3175).



Thursday, 24 March 2016

The Young Citizens in the Trenches


"Mud, Sweet Mud."


In a letter home a private in the 14th (Service) Battalion Royal Irish Rifles gives the following graphic description of life in the trenches:—

It is a long time since I started to write a letter under such extraordinary conditions, and I don't know when it will reach you, or how it will look when it arrives. I am writing it from a dug-out in the reserve line, with a sandbag full of mud for a writing desk, with mud as my inspiration, and mud-caked hands directing a muddy pencil. We came up here a couple of days ago, and I have not had a moment for writing; indeed, in the last seventy-two hours I have I only managed to get about nine hours' sleep, but what men have done men can do. The trenches are in a desperate state of mud slime and water in consequence of the recent snows, thaws, and rain, in many places reaching up to the waist. And so we have to wear trench boots, which cover the whole leg, though, unfortunately, a great number of them are not watertight. The front line trench is much worse still, and our progress thither on a working party at night was most exciting.

We walked in single file, the leading man passing back word as regards boards, sump holes, stones, and other obstacles and so a running fire of conversation was kept up which must have been, and, indeed, often was, very amusing. A sample — "Keep to centre of board," "Hole in centre," "Mind rocks," "Sump hole on right," "Up a little," "Two steps down," "Very slippery here," "Mind the mud," "Keep out of the water," &c. I myself found it a much safer way to sample the information passed down, and so when I received word of a sump hole, I generally succeeded in falling into it, to the edification of those behind. Once so deep was the river of muddy water it reached right above the boot, and washed the contents of my trouser pocket. However, the best part, from a spectacular point of view, was the thick sticky mud, about two and a half to three feet deep. You put one leg in, then heaved and shoved, and got the other one out, and so progressed. If there was a slight halt assistance in the shape of a spade had to be called upon. One poor fellow stuck altogether, and so stopped all those behind him, a circumstance which brought quite a number of suggestions, such as ropes, more spades, fatigue parties, &c. Another fellow had to leave his boots stuck in the mud, and mount the parapet in stocking soles while we dug out his boots for him.

Into the Wilderness.

Our journey that night took us over three hours, and as we hod only five hours altogether for working, and going there and back, the work done was the minimum. The further we went the deeper the mud become, and really the sight of it inspired me with a great longing to make mud pies. There was thick stuff suitable for cakes, slightly thinner resembling soda bread dough; then, of course the beautiful "batter" mud, and the more universal pancake species; and then, lastly, the liquid mud, mainly water. But, really, I believe I could write a book on the subject of mud, its advantages and disadvantages, its effect on warfare, its effects on foods; or we could advertise it as mud the great substitute for butter, dripping, jam, cheese, and soup. I am sure you will think this lengthy dissertation on mud very inconsistent with my principles; but, after all, "local colour" is the thing in description. Our dug-out rather baffles description, as it resembles a tunnel, a sewer pipe, and a large flue. The roof is convex, and is made of castiron, like the inside of the funnel of a large steamship. The floor is of mud, to which every entrant contributes something. It is reached by a narrow trench of the first species of mud, with a kind of watershoot at the end, with three steps down to the dug-out level. Here we eat, drink, sleep, reed, write, and talk.

The trenches about here are all called by well-known names, and there are Pompadour, Essex Street, Broadway, The White City, The Crater, and numerous others, intended, I suppose, to make the trenches a home from home. Oh, the irony! Home, sweet home, and mud, sweet mud! However, we manage to enjoy ourselves fairly well, though at times certainly the language is by no means patriotic and parliamentary. When one is sent on four separate occasions for a two-hour walk through mud to clear two feet of water from a trench by means of shovels, one thinks and says volumes about the intelligence of one's superiors, but generally humour takes over the situation and we enjoy it.

During the day we see and hear several shells bursting, and the rattle of the machine guns in now like music in our ears. On sentry go this morning at stand-to, when the rival forces were venting their spite in shells and bullets, a couple of larks began to sing their beautiful morning song as they rose higher and higher towards the heaven, seemingly oblivious of the deafening clashes on all sides. To them it mattered not that men were set on one another's destruction, and that they were wasting money and material in their diabolical instruments, and their very indifference did not pay a high compliment to the super-intelligence of man.

A Dinner — And a Good One Too.

I have just had dinner, and a really good one too, with plenty of vegetables in it, one of the best I have had since I joined. There's nothing bucks you up like your grub. After a very restless night usually we make use of our privilege of grousing, and you bet we are some grousers once we start, but the arrival of breakfast always brightens everybody up, and we think how much worse we might be if had no dug-out to go to, no brazier to warm our feet, and a hot part of the line. The real danger here is the state of the trench, for when one stands for hours up to the knees in water, without being able to move either way, "nuff said." One fellow in the firing line in another company had to do twenty-one hours duty on end, and collapsed completely, while another fellow fell into the mud, rifle and all, and had to be carried away suffering from sleeping sickness. Perhaps the "Chocolate Soldiers," as we are called, have shown themselves now to be more than mere parade swanks, and to be able to do their bit as well as any other battalion in the division.



From The Witness, 24th March 1916.



Thursday, 10 March 2016

The Young Citizens at the Front


Writing home to his mother, a private of the 14th (Service) Battalion Royal Irish Rifles (Y.C.V.) says –

"I am afraid I must have given you a desperate picture of our march and of my condition, but I must have been in rotten form when I wrote it, so that will account for it. I am by no means a 'poor old son,' I am rather a fortunate one, as I am neither dead, wounded, gassed, sick, bereaved, or indeed in any unfortunate circumstances. 'Tis true, today was one of the roughest days we have yet had. To begin with, we changed billets again, and shifted some kilometres further up the line. We found ourselves in a clean, large barn, very cold and draughty, but with plenty of room. When the lights had been put out we heard the other occupants of the barn, and judging from the sounds they far outnumbered our platoon. I had left a couple of biscuits on the ledge above our bed and I heard these crackling, and so I flung my cap at them, but only I succeeded in crumbling some biscuit over my bed. Then at another corner the fellows were having quite a dispute with some rats as to the right of possession, and by the light of a flash-lamp we saw several huge brown rats darting for their holes. When they had sought temporary refuge in their holes they ostrich-like, thought they, unseeing, were unseen, with the result that one of the animals lost his tail. After this casualty they paid another visit to our bed, and in their struggles for eatables one of them dropped on my partner's head. With a yell he jumped up and looked for a light to see if the intruder was still there, but in the words of the psalm, "He passed, yea, was not, him I sought, but found he could not be." This rather unnerved my bed-mate, who said he would face a German a dozen times rather than a rat, and his slumbers were very disturbed that night. Fortunately, I seem to be of a rather indifferent disposition, and so I simply put a blanket well up over my head, and the region of activity and consciousness knew me no more.

"This morning it was bitterly cold, and we had to get up at 6 a.m. to proceed to our navvying again. It was ugh-h-h-h when we got up, and the ground outside was like glass. We had a march of about four kilos, to our job, and the snow began before we got there. We started work, but in the increasing storm of snow very little work was done, more especially as the breakfast we had before leaving was a misnomer. The tea had evidently been made from the drippings of a sewer, and its taste amply justified this opinion formed from its smell. A piece of bread and marmalade completed the regal repast, which was to last us till 2 p.m. However, a visit to the canteen made up in some degree for this breakfast, and three cups of tea, two pieces of cake, three packets of biscuits, and some chocolate filled up a few of the gaps in my anatomy. By this time the snow had turned into a regular blizzard, and all work was suspended, so we had to march back again. The march back in the teeth of the blizzard was desperate, and several fellows were bleeding in various parts of their face ere we sighted our village. The snow froze on our eyebrows and hair, and our very breath froze on the capes, so it was quite a unique crowd which landed in the village. We carried between us several bags of coal collected where we had been working, the whole way back. When we reached our billets we found that blankets, rucksacks, and all our belongings were covered with some inches of snow, which had come in through the various holes in the roof and walls.

"It was a crude homecoming, but flitting being simplicity itself in the Army we simply moved our billets, and are now in canvas huts, which are at least rain and snow proof, and which are at any rate no colder than the barn billets. We expect to be in the trenches early next week, so I hope the weather will change and be a little more reasonable, or there will be cases galore of trench foot and frost-bitten feet. However, what man hath done man can do, so we hope to do our best to keep up the reputation of the division and of the battalion to which we belong."



From The Witness, 10th March 1916.
Image: A self portrait of Lance Corporal George Hackney colourised by John McCormick.




Saturday, 31 October 2015

The Ulster Divison


There are hearts to-day in Ulster
   Distraught with pain and fears;
There are eyes to-day in Ulster
   That are dim with many tears;
For soon our best and dearest
   On the battlefield will be.
We would, therefore, "God of Battle,"
   Commend our men to Thee.

Oh, give them strength and courage
   And steadfastness of heart,
When in the hour of trial
   To bravely act their part,
And succour and defend them,
   Their Leader ever be,
And make them bold in life or death
   To put their trust in Thee.

To those who tend the wounded
   Give wisdom, love, and skill;
Be ever present with them
   To guard them from all ill.
And keep far death and sickness
   From those who spend their zeal,
And ever bless their efforts
   And give them power to heal.

To Thou who art the Author
   Of concord, love, and peace,
We pray, if it may be Thy will,
   Bid war and tumult cease,
And bring our men in safety back,
   Led by Thy mighty hand;
And grant us peace with victory,
   And bless our Fatherland,

Belfast. M. M'KAY.


Text: The Witness, 29th October 1915.
Image:  Group of the Royal Irish Rifles, 36th Ulster Division, before parading for the trenches. Near Bertincourt, 20 November 1917. © IWM (Q 3175).

Wednesday, 1 July 2015

Ulster's Sacrifice



Ah! fair July of tear and sigh
Sad was the news you brought
To many an ancient noble Hall,
And humble peasants’ cot,
Within our old courageous land
Of honour, truth and worth
Grave Ulster of the Iron Will,
Proud Province of the North.

H. G. Gallagher.



From With the Ulster Division in France: A Story of the 11th Battalion Royal Irish Rifles (South Antrim Volunteers), by Arthur Purefoy Irwin Samuels Dorothy Gage Samuels


Thursday, 3 July 2014

Ulster at the Somme - The 36th (Ulster) Division

The 10th Corps consisted of the 32nd. Division, the 36th. (Ulster) Division and in support the 49th. Division. The 36th.Division embraced 3 Battalions of the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, 9 Battalions of the Royal Irish Rifles and one battalion of the Royal Irish Fusiliers, each battalion about 1,000 strong. These battalions in three Brigades, 107th. 106th. and 109th. each of four battalions, together with One Battalion of Pioneers (16th. R.I.R), Divisional Artillery, Field Companies of the Royal Engineers, Army Service Corps and Field Ambulances, all volunteers and all Ulstermen.

The Ulstermen's front lay astride the River Ancre and along the lower slopes of Thiepval Ridge as far as the southern edge of Thiepval Wood. Facing its centre was the strongly fortified village of St.Pierre Divion and the notorious Schwaben Redoubt (the most formidable on the whole front) with the Stuff Redoubt supporting these two. The whole of this front was well covered by heavy machine-guns firing from Thiepval Village on the right and the fortified villages of Beaucourt and Beaumont-Hamel on the left, all supported with a great concentration of artillery of all calibres.

Shortly after dawn on the morning of Saturday 1st July every gun on a front of 25 miles was firing. The roar was incessant and quite indescribable, at eight minutes before zero hundreds of Stokes Mortars joined in with a hurricane bombardment of 30 rounds a minute on the German defences. At 7.30 a.m. wave after wave of British Infantry roso and with bayonets glistening in the morning sun moved forward as the hurricane barrage lifted to the German second line, the air was filled with smoke and mist in the trail of the great barrage. The Ulstermen carried all before them and immediately overran the German first and support line. Within half-an-hour the 9th Inniskillings of the 109th. Brigade weer in the enemy Second Line and were sending back prisoners. By 8.30 a.m. the 109th. Brigade after very fierce hand-to-hand fighting captured and firmly established themselves in the supposedly impregnable Schwaben Redoubt. On their immediate left the 11th. and 13th. Rifles advanced rapidly and before 9 a.m. were before the Hansa Line protecting the Thiepval-Grandcourt Road. It was most unfortunate for them that St. Pierre Divion had not been captured and was already being bi-passed by these two Rifle battalions. The 12th. Rifles and the 9th. Irish Fusiliers across the Ancre on their left, after an initial success were held up by the vicious machine-gun fire from Beaucourt and Beaumont-Hamel and the failure of the 29th. Division attack on the fortress of Beaumont-Hamel and the rising ground on their immediate front. The machine-gun posts at St. Pierre Divion wrought havoc in the ranks of the 108th. Brigade, the 12th. Rifles and the 9th. Irish Fusiliers were pinned down when they reached the enemy first line, and suffered terribly, the latter lost practically all their officers. A similar fate befell the 11th. and 13th. Rifles but in spite of the terrible casualties these two battalions, or what was left of them continued their advance to the outskirts of Grandcourt (this village was not to be entered again until after the fall of Beaumont-Hamel on 15th November). This produced a dangerous and exposed position for them, being fired on from both flanks and indeed their rear. The 107th. Bde. (Belfast) advancing in support of the two leading Brigades were now advancing through the positions captured by the two leading Brigades and were now attacking the Stuff Redoubt, a strongly fortified and stubbornly held enemy strong point in the German 3rd. Line. Near the spot called the Crucifix the 11th. Inniskillings and the 14th. Rifles (YCV) found themselves being machine-gunned and plastered with mortar fire from their rear and suffered terribly. German machine-gunners and mortar crews who had sheltered in the deep cellars during the heavy British bombardment now, it must be admitted with great gallantry, came up out of their caverns to fire into the rear of the advancing infantry. No-Man's-Land became a ghastly spectacle of dead and wounded. The 15th. Rifles of the 107th. Brigade were now in the Stuff Redoubt and set about dealing with numerous machine-gun nests who had emerged from their hiding places, the scene can only be described as bloody in the fierce hand-to-hand fighting which ensued and many were the acts of extreme gallantry, most of which passed unrecorded. The hurricane of machine-gun fire from the fortress of Thiepval, which had unfortunately not been captured by the 32nd. Division on the right, played havoc among the ranks of the 8th. 9th. and 10th Rifles as they moved forward in support of the advanced positions gained by the leading battalions, in spite of the awful carnage they continued unfaltering as if on parade. The 10th. Rifles suffered terribly and lost their Commanding Officer who was killed leading his battalion to the assault. Colonel Bernard was the only battalion commander killed on this day, as Commanding Officers were expressly forbidden to accompany their battalions in the assault and were ordered to control the advance of their respective units from their battle headquarters, no explanation is forthcoming as to why this C.O. found it necessary to lead his battalion into the attack.

The 107th. Brigade battalions, sadly depleted, reached the final objective together with the remnants of the leading Brigades. Along this, the "D" or Fourth Line, they proceeded to consolidate and establish themselves. Grimly they had to beat of continuous bombing attacks until the late afternoon. Several fighting patrols were sent forward and one such patrol actually entered the notorious Mouquet Farm and found it vacated.

It is now known that about this time the Divisional Commander 36th. Division (General Oliver Nugent) was considering whether to continue the advance into the open country which had now been reached. He had asked Corps Headquarters whether he should halt his advancing Division where they stood in view of the fact that neither of the Divisions on hos flanks had gained a yard. The reply was that a new and more forceful attack would be made on Thiepval Village and also on his left towards Beaumont-Hamel. He was assured that a Brigade of the 49th. Division was being sent to his support and that he should continue his advance as was the original plan. This order from Corps. HQ., however, was cancelled ¾ of an hour later. His advance forward had already begun and every effort was made to halt the advancing troops, but as communication was extremely difficult the message arrived too late. The job of communication had to be done by runner and the process was a very long affair, fortunate was he who crossed than zone of death unscathed. Of those who went forward in the advance into open country few returned to tell the story, as they ran into masses of enemy reinforcements moving forward to heal the breach made in their line by the Ulstermen. The Fourth Line was held, however, against all onslaughts by handfuls of determined men in the hope that the promised reinforcements would arrive, unfortunately this was not to be. The Ulster Division in spite of the fact that more than half its strength were now casualties held in their grasp the promise of a great and far-reaching victory if the breach which they had made in the strongest part of the enemy defence system could have been put to use. Some 5,000 Ulstermen, though closely wedged in all round by the enemy but thrust well into the enemy line, constituted what could have been the pivot for both wings of the British Line to move forward in the attack, but for some never explained reason nothing was done about it. The Thiepval spur was undoubtedly the German key position and when eventually in the month of October and early November it was finally captured the whole German Line was compelled to retire some distance and eventually as the newly won British positions made the enemy line untenable the whole German Army in the Somme sector retired "according to plan" to the Hindenburg Line 30 miles away. Unfortunately the British casualties in the Somme battles since 1st July had passed the 250,000 mark.

Meanwhile the situation had grown considerably worse for the already sorely tried Ulstermen in the forward zone of the deep salient which they had created. After beating off continuous hostile counter-attacks throughout the remainder of the day of July 1st by German bombers coming up from Thiepval in their right-rear and from Grandcourt on their left and with ammunition and supplies practically run out the situation became desperate. Officers in the advanced positions had observed through their field-glasses trainloads of German Reserves arriving beyond Grandcourt during the evening. A large scale counter-attack was launched by these enemy reinforcements at dusk and drove our exhausted men back into the 2nd. Line which they had overrun earlier that morning. The northern end of the Schwaben Redoubt was again in German hands. During the night of 1st/2nd July three battalions from the 148th. Brigade, 49th. Division were at last put at the disposal of the 36th. Division with the object of re-taking the Schwaben Redoubt and attacking Thiepval Village from the rear with the assistance of the remnants of the 107th. and 109th. Brigades. But alas at 1 a.m. two of these battalions had not arrived and the venture had to be called off. The near exhausted troops holding on grimly to the 2nd. Line had to beat off more enemy attacks throughout the night, but the Line held, and a number of prisoners were taken. The sadly depleted units in the line now held had to fight off vicious enemy attacks all through the second day and no further relief came. Casualties mounted and many who had survived the previous day's onslaught lost their lives due to the terrible artillery and mortar fire brought to bear upon them. The problem of reinforcing and supplying the units in the forward positions was fraught with danger due to the ever narrowing width of the salient held. Several parties of the 16th. Rifles (Pioneers) with supplies of bombs ammunition and water very gallantly went through the hellish enemy barrage in support of the men holding on grimly to the southern end of the Schwaben Redoubt and joined in in the defence with their hard pressed comrades.

That night, Sunday 2nd July, the Ulster Division was relieved by the 49th. Division, the relief was complete by 10 a.m. on the morning of the 3rd July when the battle scarred and weary remnants of the gallant Ulster Division, less than half the numbers who went "over-the-top" on the morning of 1st July, marched into the Martinsart Area and immediately flung themselves down to sleep.

Mention must be made of the supporting troops of the Ulster Division. All gave of their best in support of the heroic effort of the infantry. The Divisional Artillery under most trying conditions and continuous bombardment carried out their task in the true tradition of the British Gunner. The wire in front of all four German Lines was well out when compared with other parts of the battle front. This was in no small measure why the infantry was able to advance with such speed. It should here be mentioned that a Regiment of French Artillery also supported the Ulster Division during the assault and no doubt added considerably to the success of the effective role played by the artillery on this sector of the front. The Royal Engineers, who suffered severely, showed devotion to duty of the highest order regardless to the pounding they took from the enemy barrage of shell and bullet. The Field Ambulances worked unceasingly and heroically in their work of succour for the wounded and the dying. The Army Service Corps Supply Columns gave of their best in their vital supporting role and in common with other supporting elements suffered severe casualties. In all it can truthfully be said that the Division worked well in this their first major, and perhaps greatest, ordeal. All ranks from the highest down had acquitted themselves in the traditional fighting spirit of their race and in the best traditions of the famous Ulster Regiments to which they belonged.

The Ulster Division's assault on Thiepval Ridge and along the Ancre Valley though carried out with brilliant dash and complete success on the opening day and well into the second day and alone of all the divisions in the Northern Sector had taken all their objectives and held on to them for a day-and-a-half their success was not exploited. They had created a deep narrow salient 3,000 yards in depth and approximately half that distance in width, they had overrun and captured the most formidable and reputedly impregnable positions on the whole Western Front and inflicted severe casualties on the enemy, but the Divisions on both their flanks failed to make any movement forward leaving the strongly fortified village of Thiepval and the Leipzig Redoubt on their right and the fortresses of Beaumont-Hamel and Beaucourt on their left unconquered. In spite of this the situation created by the advance of the Ulstermen could have undoubtedly been exploited if someone with the initiative of a Montgomery or a Patton had been there and decided to infiltrate reinforcements into the large gap made in the hostile line, however, the word infiltration had not yet crept into the British military vocabulary and nothing was done and a great opportunity was lost. Haig as a cavalryman had an obsession for cavalry and had taken the Cavalry Units, who for over eighteen months had been used as Infantry in the trenches, out of the trenches and assembled a Cavalry Corps comprising three Cavalry Divisions at some distance behind the front attacked, in the hope of a breakthrough - but this was wishful thinking - Cavalry had long since ceased to fit into the pattern of modern war and the "Tank" was still on the secret list. In any case it would have been quite impossible for horses to make their way across the deep trench systems deeply shell-pocked and covered with forests of barbed-wire entanglements running to a depth of two or three kilometres before the open country was reached. No cavalry could have advanced in face of the thousands of enemy machine-guns which faced the British advance. Why then was the Cavalry not allowed to remain dismounted as Infantry and take their place in the general assault, three further supporting divisions would have been very useful as things turned out.

As previously mentioned, what remained of the 36th. Division was taken out of the line on the morning of the 3rd July and placed in reserve around Martinsart, a few days later it was taken further back to reorganise in the Bernaville area. The Divisional Artillery, the Royal Engineers and the 16th. Royal Irish Rifles (Pioneers) remained in the line to carry on their hazardous duties in support of other divisions. On July 12th the Division less Artillery received orders to move to Flanders.

So ended the 36th (Ulster) Division's first great ordeal. It had cause to be proud of the valiant part it played in this the greatest battle the world had ever seen. Against immense difficulties and the most formidable defences, both Officers and Men had shown the highest degree of personal courage and had won for themselves and their Province a proud place in history. This, alas, was achieved only at a terrible cost in young lives, the Division lost 5,553 Officers and Men in the two days they were in action and practically every home in Ulster was thrown into mourning. We can do no better than end the story of the Ulster Division at the Somme than with Winston Churchill's famous words to the men of the IV Army after the battle ended: "Unconquerable by death, which they had conquered, they have set up a monument of native virtue which will command the wonder, the reverence and the gratitude of our island people so long as we endure as a nation of men".


To be continued...


The above text is taken from a typed manuscript which was written in 1966 and was signed with the initials W.A.S. If anyone knows who the original author was I would like to hear from you so that it can be properly attributed.

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

The Battle for the Wytschaete-Messines Ridge


The battle for the Wytschaete-Messines Ridge has come -- and gone. And although in war there is but little time for retrospect, except for those who must glean, amidst the doings of the battlefield, fresh weapons for the further fighting, there is no Irishman who has been privileged to bear arms in Belgium for Ireland and the Empire who will not carry away some ineffaceable impressions of great happenings -- of a noble enterprise soberly undertaken and gloriously achieved -- of great death-dealing forces arrayed against each other on a scale unparalleled -- of scenes where beauty and destructive power awakened breathless awe -- of human suffering and patriotic devotion at such white-hot intensity that from it has issued, as some new amalgam might issue molten from a flaming crucible, a unifying bond of common brotherhood, to bind in lasting sympathy all those that have passed through the furnace side by side.

One scene which will not easily be forgotten by those who were present will illustrate this solvent effect on party differences which the spirit of brotherhood-in-arms has produced. On the way back from the battle a large number of officers, mostly Irish, met at dinner at a hospice where a Belgian religious sisterhood had been wont for long to divert portion of their energies from their normal charitable and devotional activities to providing for the wants of the army which had come to free their country. Around the table were met not only officers who had fought in the battle or organised the subsidiary services so indispensable for success in battle, physical and spiritual wants of the troops -- but also those who had ministered to the doctors and padres, Presbyterian, Roman Catholic and Church of Ireland or England -- all wearing the uniform of their respective ranks and all of them men recently exposed to the risk of death. The toast of "The Reverend Mother" was proposed in terms of grateful eulogy by the senior officer present -- and the walls rang to the good old refrain, "For she's a jolly good fellow." with a volume of whole-hearted appreciation to which all -- reverend, learned and gallant comrades -- contributed equally. Adsit omen!

It would be difficult to fix exactly the date at which it became known that the Wytschaete Ridge would be object and scene of a great battle, just as it would be difficult to fix the precise day and hour at which the battle began. But for those who could read the signs speculation had long since given place to certain conviction. Whilst yet we lived amidst iron frosts and snow flurries, which, happily, were more prevalent than muddy morasses and rainstorms, the country-side began to be spotted with ammunition dumps, roads were repaired, lanes converted into roads, new roads made and railways came nosing forward curving round the hollows that eased the gradients and gave cover from enemy observation. Further forward trench tramway lines connected up and with the various trench systems, and everywhere water mains and water tanks, buried cables and air lines, were placed in suitable spots and in a quantity significant to the understanding eye. Old trenches were repaired, communication trenches were constructed, deep-mined dug-outs excavated, and subways pierced where trenches might be too conspicuous or too vulnerable. The days passed, when in the spasmodic interchanges of shelling or of trench raids were claimed a disputable preponderance of the one or a questionable predominance at the other. The time came when it was we who made the raids and the enemy scarcely ventured to make the attempt, and failed when he did -- the time came when our artillery fire was continuous and it was only the enemy that was spasmodic in retaliation. These were the days when those who had prophesied with confidence that the enemy would make one last offensive in his death struggle, and sally forth from the Wytschaete Ridge in a final effort to reach Calais and the Channel coast, now began to opine with equal confidence that he was gradually withdrawing with a view to a general retreat. And still our artillery fire grew more copious, till the sound of it was like the sound of some great devil's cauldron of porridge on the boil -- sometimes boiling up in furious intensity -- sometimes simmering down in subdued cadences, but always maintaining its steady bubbling -- a bubbling which told us that the Hun was being deliberately denied that occasional respite which comes as such a blessed relief to the nerve-wracked victim of protracted shell-fire.

Meantime, the tide of activity on the lines of communication was running in ever increasing volume -- and the troops in the front line were being withdrawn by divisions or brigades or battalions in rotation, and were being schooled -- like racehorses before a big steeplechase -- over country so laid out as to distances and obstacles and the like, as to be models of those sections of the enemy from which it would be their allotted task to attack. Meantime, too, our aeroplanes had been re-establishing their supremacy -- though the enemy was never altogether banished from active and melodious, even in the fighting area -- the nightingale by night, larks and blackbirds and a whole choir of warblers by day, and among the songless ones, hawks and magpies galore. And there, stamped and seared across the gallant radiance of the June landscape lay the trench lines of the opposing armies, divided by that little, wandering strip of green and tangled herbage called "No Man's Land," trench tangled, twisted and contorted like some geometrical puzzle thrown into confused disarray, trench lines that gape up at heaven in their bald and obscene nudity like a poisoned and neglected wound on the bosom of beauty. And amidst the trench lines here and there are crumbling heaps that once were human habitations, and whole woods in which no leaf shall ever grow -- mere cemeteries of hideous and mutilated stumps and the fallen trunks of trees, shattered and shredded, blasted and riven by the thunderbolts of war.

And still, day by day, the devil's cauldron was boiling incessantly with a deeper note and a growing volume in its roar -- and expectation sharpened up to nervous tension, and men, with all their preparations made for personal effort and for good or ill-fortune in the fray, were asking each other: "When is it to be?" and got no certain answer, for even yet zero day and zero hour were closely guarded secrets. Bombardments of the enemy positions multiplied: systematic wire-cutting in the Hun front and support lines by field-guns and medium trench mortars, the searching out of strong points and machine-gun emplacements, dug-outs and O.P.'s by heavy trench mortars; the pounding of the enemy batteries by heavy guns; artillery practices of barrages that creep and of barrages that jump, of barrages that spread smoke and the confusion of darkness in the enemy's lines, and of barrages that spill over him the poison gas which he himself taught us to use. One June morning saw the tortured remnants of Wytschaete laid flat by the concentrated fire of the "heavies," and surely, destruction mote complete, more beautiful, and more terrible has never visited a human town since the day when the Lord rained fire from heaven upon Sodom and Gomorrah. In the clear air of a sunlit forenoon we saw the vast explosions -- earth and dust and debris splashed into the air hundreds of feet, patterned against the blue sky in aborted symmetrical shapes, like ferns or crystals, and slowly sinking amidst the newer splashes, while the breeze wafted away the finer dust. And the colours added to the wonders of the scene. There were splashes of jet black and of white, as lustrous as virgin snow; splashes of rose and yellow and pale mauve and splashes of every shade of red and purple. When it was finished, Wytschaete existed no more.

At last, after nearly a week so spent, the dispositions of the infantry, long since planned and organised in minutest detail, were carried into effect, and zero day and zero hour named -- the 7th day of June, a Thursday, and 3-10 a.m. About the actual units engaged it is forbidden to be more precise, but it suffices that Ireland was there -- Leinster and Connaught, Ulster and Munster -- side by side, united by the same pride of race and the same passionate determination to justify it.

As the night slowly ebbed away, mild and gentle, the Devil's Cauldron, as was not unusual, had simmered down into comparative quiescence. No lights nor sounds had betrayed the presence of the assaulting troops to the enemy artillery. Everything was ready, and men breathed deep breaths as they waited as runners wait for the starter's pistol. And then -- a stupifying outburst, in which one's very senses seemed to be submerged by the sudden clamour of a myriad sounds, a myriad flames, a myriad shocks, all blended together:
"The mossy earth, the sphered skies were riven,"
and in that moment our Irish troops leaped forth to the attack.

In that moment some nineteen mines, charged with close on a million pounds of high explosives, had been fired beneath the Hun lines, upon our nine mile front -- on the immediate Wytschaete front there were four. The shuddering earth literally palpitated at the gigantic up-rending of its crust -- in one mine alone which the writer examined, there were forty tons of high explosive, and it bore evidence of the violence it had suffered in a crater measuring ninety yards across and a full seventy feet in depth? In that same moment the "Devil's Cauldron, that had been cooking so long, finally boiled over in fierce and concentrated intensity, thus far unparalleled in war -- to be followed, after but a momentary pause, deep answering to deep, by the enemy's barrage, descending in full blast upon our front and support lines.

The village of Wytschaete after its occupation

Before our assaulting troops there moved the curtain fire of our barrage -- hundreds of yards in depth -- to which every piece, from the field-gun to the great howitzer, contributed its maximum effort a curtain such as no battlefield has ever seen before, and which was the finished product of some beautifully intricate schemes of artillery organisation. And whilst the attack was surging up the slope with irresistible gallantry, the men in the support line -- whose allotted task was to go forward later to win a yet more distant goal -- stood in the waxing twilight, under the Hun barrage, gas helmet on head, for the poisonous fumes from the exploded mines were drifting over them -- and watched and waited and chafed at the delay. At last the programme time arrived, and they too pressed forward in their turn, about the time of sunrise. Already little patties, bringing wounded and prisoners, were dribbling in with the tidings that all was going well, and as they breasted the slope they found that their gallant comrades had captured the hospice and the crest of the ridge, with all the precision of a parade movement. Already the Hun was shelling the captured position; a brief pause to take breath, a few minutes to take up their battle positions, and then away they went for the second ridge crest and its reverse slopes, from which the whole land past Oosstaverne to Comines lies open to the view. More difficulty here -- the attack has to pass over ground hitherto unseen, across the sloped glacis of the northern defences of Wytschaete, through a tangled skein of trenches, and amidst the ruins of many houses -- the while other Irishmen are working their way into Wytschaete itself, and past its southern defences. Nay, more, over these tilted slopes and ruins and shell-contorted defences, the attack had to advance on a narrowing front and then widen out again, to thrust forward its left flank and then to pivot round until the right came abreast. Not easy thus to manoeuvre when fiery courage is maddened to intoxication in the passion of a resisted charge. Not easy, but yet achieved to the exact minute laid down in the programme, with both flanks extended with scrupulous accuracy to -- aye, and with a precautionary overlap -- their prescribed limits. Not easy, when blood is flowing and leaders drop -- but previous study of maps and aerial photographs has robbed the unknown of much of its mystery, and all have been tutored in its results, and passion itself has learned, even in its very ecstacy, to shape its blow with mechanical precision. Like a homing pigeon to its loft, the attacking Irish sped to their objectives, with their "moppers up" toiling behind, dealing with the big "dug-outs" and the swelling tide of prisoners, within four minutes of the arrival at the goal, with exact punctuality, the carrying party delivered its load of ammunition and tools! Consolidation began, reorganisation of platoons and companies, a counting of casualties, the pushing forward of outposts and patrols, the construction of strong points, Wytschaete and the ridge were ours -- every measure must now be taken to ensure that Wytschaete and the ridge shall remain ours. Victory achieved, its fruits must be securely garnered.

The panorama of sunlit landscape stretching westward, shows how dreadfully our positions for the last two years and more have been overlooked by the Huns, and bears instant testimony to the great strategic value of our victory. The slope itself -- once a scene of gentle sylvan beauty, with the copious foliage of its woodlands and the rich verdure of its swelling slopes -- is now, as an outcast leper, fetid and obscene. There is no green thing growing on its whole expanse; its trees are but torn and jagged stumps; its surface, seamed with burst-in trenches, is pock-marked and pitted as from the ravages of a million loathsome pustules; its atmosphere is noisome with the thousand filthy odours of a long-contested battlefield. It is a midden upheaved; a catacomb disrupted, protruding its corruption and decay; a charnel house. And even as it blazons forth its filthy secrets to an outraged sky, we know -- we who have eyes to read the signs -- that it is hugging in its unclean breast a plenteous store of recent victims, dead, wounded and living, whose strong-built shelters have been shattered or submerged by the countless burstings of mighty shells. Surely, it is "the abomination of desolation," spoken of by Jeremy the prophet.

And here we see the crowds of prisoners trooping over the crest and down the slope, the runners dashing in with hastily pencilled reports from the victorious front line, the fitful sprinkling of enemy shells, the working and carrying parties moving up, pack mules with ammunition and water, threading their way through obstacles innumerable across the old front lines -- and then a swelling stream of the wounded, painfully pushing its way over rough ground, comrades and Hun prisoners alike helping, to the forward dressing station. It is a sad pilgrimage from the advanced aid post, close behind the new-won front, where wounds are roughly staunched amidst the enemy's fire, which to-day has taken heavy toll of the ministering non-combatants. And here, in a commodious shell-hole, the doctors and the padres work at highest pressure to bring physical and spiritual solace to the wounded and dying -- Irish and Hun -- first come first served -- all have an equal claim: --
"Tros Tyrius que fuit, nullo in discrimine habetur."
As the rough dressings are stripped off of its western front because the military engineers who designed them never thought that its western ramparts could be carried -- nor for a long time could the prisoners from other parts of the front be persuaded of the fact that Wytschaete had indeed fallen. All hail to the Green and to the Orange!

And so the long twilight and the short, slow night passed away amidst the ceaseless comings and goings of the battlefield -- whilst the men, soused by the evening thunder showers, shivered and dozed and waited for the promised reliefs -- whilst the enemy artillery, robbed of all observation, aimlessly pitched its big shells over the ridge like the blinded Cyclops, threshing furiously through the unresisting air.

At last came the morning, and with it the reliefs. And as we started down the slopes in the growing light, the story spread how, on the adjoining front, Major Willie Redmond charging with his comrades, had been wounded by a shell and carried into an Ulster ambulance station, where, amidst the kindly ministrations of his brother Irishmen, he had yielded up his chivalrous soul -- a very willing sacrifice on the altar of Ireland and of liberty.


This article and photos were taken from  a publication entitled "The Undivided Irish Divisions and How They Fought in France and in Flanders." Date of publication currently unknown.