THREE.

It’s impossible to say how much Peter knew about the very recent

movements of the 47th Battalion in France while he was in training at

Codford. No doubt he’d have heard something of the part the it

played at Pozieres in the Somme sector in August of that year ; that

it had assisted in the attack on Bullecourt in March 1917, and that it

had been through the hell of the 3 rd Ypres and Passchendaele ; and

while he may have heard that it had taken casualties, war-time

censorship would have disguised the true numbers.

Perhaps some of his old mates in the 9 th Reinforcements had written

back - it will be remembered that most of the 9th had crossed to

France the previous July. If so, he would have had some idea of what

was lying in wait. He’d have learnt something of the atrocious

conditions his comrades had to endure in the course of that cruel

winter and the absolute sense of exhaustion brought about by a long

and bloody war.

Shortly before he left Codford he and a few others were informed

that they’d been transferred from the 47 th and would now be joining its

sister battalion, the 42nd, in the Armentieres sector on the French-

Belgian border. We can only guess at his reaction but the truth is that

he had already seen the last of many of his former colleagues. While

all the service records of the 9 th Reinforcements are not as yet

available, the majority are, and a quick trawl of those reveals that

something like 22 were subsequently to be killed in action or die of

wounds, 54 received wounds, 8 were taken Prisoner of War, 23 were

discharged as medically unfit and 3 were discharged for other reasons.

However, this transfer may not have been all that disturbing because

it’s just possible that he already knew some of the 42nd. It too was a

Queensland battalion and its reinforcements had also trained on the

Salisbury Plain at a camp called Larkhill not far from Codford. Now, in

November 1917 in common with all other battalions the 42 nd was

extremely hard up for man-power. Even though it had been in reserve

it had taken heavy casualties at Passchendaele the previous month,

principally through gassing and trench foot, and what was to be its

final reinforcements, the 8th, had joined it as far back as June.

Between the 4th and the 21st of October 5 of its officers and 62

other ranks had been killed in action and 10 officers and 361 other

ranks had been wounded, that is, one third its total strength. Perhaps

then his transfer had something to do with making up numbers.

From his port of disembarkation Peter made his way to Roulles on

the outskirts of La Harve. Here the A.I.F. 3 rd Division, of which the 42th

Battalion was part, had a huge base camp known as the 3 rd

Australian Divisional Base Depot, (3rd A.D.B.D.) through which every

soldier of that Division was required to pass, whether he was a

“casual” that is, an individual joining or rejoining his battalion, or part

of a Reinforcements. Here he would have been given a thorough

medical examination (in theory) and have undergone 12 days extra

training. His name is recorded as first becoming part of the 3 rd

A.D.B.D. on November 20th, 1917. Then, on December 2nd he marched

out from Roulles to join his unit. (1)

As far as I can make out when Peter caught up with the 42 nd

Battalion it was billeted in wooden huts at a place called Korte Pyp

(“Short Pipe” in Flemish, after an estaminet of that name close by)

near the town of Steenwerck on the French side of the Belgian border,

(a border they would cross and re-cross in the coming months) and

about 25 kms. north of Lille. The Battalion had been there since

November 15th and was to remain at Korte Pyp training till mid-

December. It’s strength on December 1st was badly depleted, down to

40 officers and 742 other ranks. The weather was bitterly cold but dry.

On 19th December the Battalion moved out of Korte Pyp and marched

to what was known as “Jesus Farm” (a large cross had been erected

close by, hence the name given to it by the Military. It consisted of 20

small circular huts and horse and mule lines) and the following day

they took over the line in the Bois Grenier sector near the village of

Erquinhem. They remained in the line for 6 days during which they

experienced some German shell-fire but generally speaking it was a

quiet sector and the trenches were in good condition. They were off

again on December 26th marching back to Jesus Farm. On the last

day of 1917 they marched to Birr Barracks in the village of Locre. It

was piercing cold and the roads were like glass.

Marching (in what often appeared to the men to be pointless circles)

was a big part of a soldier’s life. Perhaps the smartest marchers in the

British Army was the Rifle Brigade which could pace out 140 steps to

the minute. A single Brigade on the move with its transport, occupied

at least 3 miles of road. With the tail of the column an hour’s march

behind the vanguard and the obligatory ten minute’s rest every hour it

took 2 ½ hours marching easy to cover that distance. If two Brigades

happened to meet at a cross-roads arguments as to who had

precedence could hold up 10,000 men in a chain reaction that

stretched for miles and throw out the carefully planned arrangements of

a dozen billeting officers who’d earmarked neighbouring villages for

accommodation that night.

The Battalion’s first move of 1918 came on January 27 th with a

return to Korte Pyp. The following day they were on the move again,

this time for Ingersol Camp at Nieppe on the road to Romarin. For the

next week or so they were employed as working parties in the Le

Bizet and Ploegsteet sectors strengthening the defences along the line.

This was hard work and dangerous. Materials and men were brought

up to the line by means of a light railway which was well within the

range of the German artillery so that their movements were regularly

shelled. The work moved at a frantic pace, and with good reason.
Rumours were rife that the Germans intended a major Spring offensive

and it was thought that it could come in the Armentieres-Messines

sector where the battalion was now.

On February 5th they were back in the trenches, this time at Pont

Rouge. They were there for 8 days. Out of the line once more they

were again employed in strengthening defences. On February 21 st , on

their return to the trenches, they’d the unpleasant experience of being

bombed from the air by Gothas. They were out again on March 2nd.

Now, after several months of foot-slogging around and about the

Armemnteries sector they were due a month’s rest. First, they marched

to Camp Ingersol. From there to Korte Pyp, and on March 6th still

marching they arrived at Steenwerck where they entrained for

Lottinghem which lies on the line some miles west of Arques and to

the east of Boulogne.

At this point the Battalion split up, A and C companies set out on

foot for Harlettes, B company went to Bolescamps, and Headquarters

and D company settled down at Fromenthal. The last time they’d visited

these villages had been in May 1917.

They were now far behind the line, away from all danger, and ready

to enjoy to a well-deserved rest. - At least that was the plan.

NOTES :

(1) George Herbert Hill in his memoir, “Retreat From Death,”

Hutchinson & Co., 1936) recounts his introduction to the War in the

course of the German offensive in March 1918. Hill, who served in the

British Army, describes his first arrival on French soil :

“We left the town behind and trudged along, the road getting steeper

and steeper. My comrades cursed Le Harve viciously and changed

their rifles frequently from one shoulder to the other without getting any

relief. None of us was in much condition for route marching that

morning, especially up-hill, and we sweated, knees bent.

“By and by we passed isolated huts to the left of the road, and then

turned in thankfully to the great Base. I thought naturally that the

march was at an end, but we went on steadily past compact blocks of

huts and tents with big dining halls and marquees marking the

boundaries between the lines. The place had a harsh, serviceable

appearance and a shiver of anticipation went through me. The trenches

loomed nearer.

“ Whitewashed stones edged the paths running between the huts and

tents, but instead of being decorative they had a done-as-punishment

look. Groups of soldiers hung about the paths or sat at the roadside.

Some of them glanced up casually as we passed. Others, who

happened to be standing with their backs to us, didn’t bother to turn

around. They were cavalry and gave the impression that they had

been there a long time, and were in no danger of moving. There was

no sign of horses. Yet there was a glamour about them that ordinary
foot soldiers lacked. They were fine-looking fellows, their neat riding

breeches and waisted tunics setting of their slim hips and straight

backs.

“The cavalry gave way to the artillery and still we marched on,

groaning inwardly as we forced ourselves to step out and appear at

ease in front of so many strange units.

“When we came to the infantry lines I was tired out and hadn’t

sweated so much for a year. The others were feeling the strain too.

The men we passed now were of a different stamp. They were mostly

smaller and not nearly so smart or well set up. They hadn’t the bored

superciliousness of the cavalry, and eyed us in a friendly fashion,

taking care to look at our cap badges to see if we were bound for

their particular regiment before turning away. I noticed, however, that

as well as being friendly, there was something slightly questioning in

the looks they threw us which puzzled me at first.