10th Battalion Worcestershire Regiment 3rd July 1916
Extract from 'The Worcestershire Regiment in the Great War' by Captain H. FitzM. Stacke MC.
Private Thomas George Turrall winning his Victoria Cross
That afternoon the 58th Brigade attacked the La Boisselle salient, securing a lodgment on the southern face; and orders were sent for the 57th Brigade to move up after midnight. Rather than risk another jam in the communication trenches, the 10th Worcestershire moved forward across the open in three lines of platoons, reached the British front line opposite the extreme western end of the hostile salient, and lay down to await the moment of attack. The other battalions of the Brigade formed up to flank and rear. Flares and bursting shells disclosed their position to the enemy, and a heavy fire of shrapnel caused many casualties: but all lay still, awaiting the hour fixed for the attack.
Shortly after 3 a.m. amid the blazing gun-fire all around, a warning order was passed along the line. A few minutes later a second order, unheard amidst the din but quickly sensed, rippled down the ranks. The men rose to their feet, and the order was given to advance. The platoons rushed forward, crossed "No Man's Land " and charged the German defences.
A fierce fight followed with bomb and bayonet over successive lines of trenches. The companies became confused, control became impossible and the platoons stormed forward as best they could, led by their subalterns and N.C.O's. One party was led by Lance-Corporal A. J. Gardner, who dashed ahead of the rest carrying a Lewis-gun under his arm which he fired as he ran. A party of the enemy gave way before him and he seized their trench. He was hit, but continued to fire his Lewis-gun till he fainted from loss of blood.
In small groups the Worcestershire platoons fought their way onwards into the ruins of the village. Ten days of intense bombardment had shattered every house; but the enemy had previously constructed deep dugouts and had strengthened the cellars. In those underground strongholds they had survived the bombardment, and now they swarmed up from their cover to meet the attack. In and around the smashed heaps of masonry which had once been houses, the British platoons fought with enemies who appeared suddenly and unexpectedly from every side. Only by momentary light of flares and shell-bursts was it possible to distinguish friend from foe. The fighting was hand-to-hand or at point-blank range, with bomb, bullet or cold steel.
At various points individual officers established some sort of order for a moment and attempted a systematic destruction of the German defences. Explosive charges previously prepared were brought up and were thrown down such dugouts as were discovered. But the fighting was too involved and the casualties too rapid for any permanent control.
Battalion Headquarters of the 10th Worcestershire had followed the companies forward across the trenches. The Commanding Officer, Colonel Royston-Piggott, made his way forward with his Adjutant up to a large mine-crater-the crater of the mine which had been fired on July 1st. There he made certain that his Battalion had reached the village. He dictated to his Adjutant a message to be sent back to Brigade reporting the progress. Just as the message was finished, the Colonel was shot through the heart. A few minutes later the Adjutant also was hit and, for a time, Battalion Headquarters ceased to exercise control.
The first light of dawn enabled the fighters in the village to recognise each other with certainty, and the struggle reached its climax. Most of the defenders had by that time been killed or captured, although a few strong points still held out. Several of the Worcestershire platoons had fought their way right through the village to the more open ground on the far side. That ground was a tangle of broken hedges in a wilderness of shell-holes. Small parties of troops pushed forward in the excitement of victory, shooting, bombing and collecting prisoners.
Lieutenant R. W. Jennings led one such party, collecting such stray men as he could find. In the dim light he recognised one of the "Battalion bombers", Private T. G. Turrall, and called him to follow. Private Turrall, a powerfully built soldier, went forward with the bombing party.
The daylight grew. A hidden machine-gun suddenly opened fire on the group. Private Turrall flung himself on his face and escaped the hail of bullets. When they ceased he peered around. The subaltern was lying close to him, badly wounded, with a shattered leg. No other survivor of the party could be seen.
Private Turrall crawled to his wounded officer and dragged him slowly to shelter in a shell-hole. Then he set to bandaging the wound, using the haft of his entrenching tool as a splint, and binding it with one of his own puttees.
As he worked, a bomb burst close to his head: then another. A German bombing party had seen him moving in the shell-hole. He picked up his rifle and opened fire on the bombers, who were working forward along a hedge. A gap in the hedge enabled him to shoot two of them: the others gave up the attack.
Peering from the shell-hole he saw a wave of German infantry pouring forward from the east-a strong counter-attack. Resistance to such a force was useless, but he did not think of surrender. The subaltern had fainted. Private Turrall flung himself flat and feigned death. He was prodded with bayonets and then left. The counter-attack swept on to break against the Battalion in the village.
Throughout that day he tended and defended the helpless subaltern. When darkness came he cautiously made his way towards the village, with the officer on his back. By good fortune they reached safety.
Lieutenant Jennings' wounds proved mortal, and he died within a few hours; but not before he had dictated an account of his soldier's deed; and Private Turrall's brave devotion was rewarded by the Victoria Cross.
In the village itself the last brave remnant of the enemy fought on, holding individual posts for several hours. Those posts were gradually isolated, surrounded and reduced. Strong German counter-attacks were made against the village; but a defensive line had been hastily organised on the eastern outskirts of the village and the counter-attacks were withered by machine-guns and musketry. By midday the fighting in the village was over: the last German post had been taken, and reorganisation was in progress.
The 10th Worcestershire had reason to be proud of their first battle; for the captured position was of immense strength. The dugouts were so deep and of such solid construction that even after the terrific bombardment of the previous week many of them were still undamaged; and the defenders-troops of the German 13th, 23rd and 110th Reserve Regiments-had fought to the last. The 57th Brigade captured 153 prisoners-nearly all wounded. But the success had been dearly purchased. The Battalion had lost a third of its fighting strength, including the Commanding Officer and Adjutant.
The survivors of the Battalion held on throughout the remainder of the day in such cover as they could find or make, and in the evening the supernumerary officers who had been left behind with the Battalion Transport came up and took over command of the companies. After dark the 10th Worcestershire were relieved by the 7th South Lancashire and withdrew to rest. Orders were to proceed to a trench named "Ryecroft Avenue," but in the darkness the weary troops wandered to and fro for some time before the location of that reserve position could be discovered. Eventually the platoons were housed in crowded dugouts. All next day (July 4th) officers and men slept the sleep of exhaustion, broken at intervals by heavy shelling.
At 9 p.m. on July 4th the 10th Worcestershire moved forward again to the old British front line, in support to the fighting still in progress beyond La Boisselle. Rain and shell-fire made all ranks damp and miserable but the Battalion was not actively engaged. Next morning the Battalion again moved back to the Tara-Usna line. Orders came for the 57th Brigade to be relieved; and after dark that evening the 10th Worcestershire marched right back to billets in Albert.
I'm living in the past, in the WW1 days, probably I have inherited this from my maternal grandfather, a WW1 Austro-Hungarian infantry officer. In our family nobody really was interested in his past and only in the later years of his life did he open himself with details. I was listening to his accounts for days and I was lucky to be able to visit one of his former front lines on the Tyrolean front, the mountains known as Coni Zugna near Rovereto. Very rocky area, so the trenches are still there, and I listened to many of his memories. Only later I realized that he spared me the most gruesome details of trench warfare.
Josef Bonell was born 1898, Brixen Suedtirol (today the province of Alto Adige Italy). After 24 May 1915 he enrolled in the Volunteer Railroad patrol, private citizen guarding the rail lines. In 1916 after being called on duty he volunteered for the Tiroler Kaiserschuetzen (Tyrolean Riflemen) as on officer candidate, first because it was a local unit, it was Alpine troops, he loved the "edelweiss" as a symbol and the buttons of the uniform were of silver.
Badge of the Tiroler Kaiserschuetzen
Basic training was already tough, with its main focus on trench warfare, infantry charges and close quarter combat (he disliked all the training for hand to hand combat, but accepted it). When ready for combat duty he was transferred to his unit on the Southern Trentino front near Rovereto, II Tiroler Kaiserschuetzen Regiment (2nd regiment Tyrolean riflemen). His battalion, supplying the regiment with men to replace the losses, was the No 24 (Marsch Battalion Nr 24), so since August 1914, this regiment was in a need of 24 battalions by fall 1916 to replace the losses.
Here it was plain trench warfare, many nights in no mans land, trench raids, small scale attacks and counterattacks, snipers and rats, many rats. By June 1917 the Regiment was send to the Asiago Plateau, to counterattack the Italian offensive on the Ortigara Mountain. Very rocky open terrain, no cover, extended use of gas shells, endless attacks by the Italians and no water, every single drop of water had to be delivered. Many times trench raids were made to look for food or water. A comment that impressed me here was "at night I was convinced I was marching in a muddy area, I soon realised it was human remains".
October / November 1917 on the Isonzo front for the big Austro-German offensive. He witnessed the big bombardment with gas shells and a German unit was fighting near his regiment, he is not sure but almost positive that he met a Captain named Rommel (after reading his memoirs, Infantry attacks). During this offensive it's self explanatory to understand his comment, "I was so tired and hungry, I prayed God many times to send me a bullet to put an end to all this and let me be in peace". Also very dramatic are the encounters with Italian soldiers being gassed and begging to be shot. I still can see my grandfather's watery eyes, telling about an Italian Captain, on his knee, with foam coming out of his mouth and nose, asking/begging in the old Latin language to be shot. To respect to my grandfather's past I never asked him more details about this.
After December 1917, again trench warfare on the Monte Grappa front, after a trench raid he was promoted Lt and got the Silver Star. At this point trench warfare was getting more horrible, knives, shovels, picks, and hand made weapons were quite usual.
My grandfather was from a very peaceful, well educated family, with formal manners. I can only imagine how difficult all this was for him. In spring 1918 he contracted one of the many trench diseases, trench foot, pneumonia and a heavy infection on his chest, and was sent to a military hospital. Late September 1918 he was selected for a Captain's course. On 4 Nov 1918 the war ended. His military transport was 50 kilometres away from his home town, so he just walked home, witnessing what soldiers without officers or discipline can do. All the nationalities of the Austrian Empire were trying to reach their homeland before being captured by the Italians.
So this is a brief story of an Austro-Hungarian Infantry soldier, he became a school teacher and superintendent, and would not harm any living entity. We grandchildren, knew that around grandpa, don't kill any spider of fly or aunts, or we would get a long preaching.
Karl was a farmer and served as "Kononier" (Gunner) in the 2nd Regiment, 2nd Bavarian Foot Artillery, IInd Mobile Replacement Battalion, 2nd Recruit Training Depot (according to his military service book).
He kept a diary whilst at the front, part of which can be read by clicking this link.
Part of a drawing by Arthur Radclyffe Dugmore 1916
One of our tasks while in Bécordel was to furnish work parties to assist the tunnelling companies who were engaged in mining under the German lines. About half of our men had to go each night for this work, and most unpopular work it was, both for officers and men, especially during wet weather. The enemy knew exactly where our mine heads were situated and amused himself regularly each night by dropping shells and rifle grenades among the work parties. The previous occupants of our village had suffered heavy casualties in this way, so we were not surprised when during the following night work the officers reported several wounded and one killed. Later on when the men had finished their allotted task earlier than usual some of them were seized with the souvenir-hunting craze and crawled out in No Man's Land to look for unexploded grenades. Unfortunately they discovered a few and in coming through the narrow trench on their way back to the village one let his fall; it exploded and caused no less than ten casualties. This resulted in an order that under no condition was any man allowed to touch unexploded shells or grenades.
The following day two of the victims of this unfortunate tragedy were brought through the village for burial in the little cemetery nearby. It was the first time I had seen one of those pathetically simple funerals. The bodies were sewn up in Army blankets (which the Germans with their high degree of efficiency would have considered criminal waste) and borne on light two-wheeled stretcher carriers ; there was no guard or firing party, no one but the Padre and the men who pushed the stretchers, and so they were taken to their last resting place over which two more small crosses would be added to the thousands, yes hundreds of thousands that will remain in France to mark England's dead, her part in the great sacrifice for the rights of humanity.
Many strange things happened during the night operations. I was told that on several occasions the Germans had sent a man over dressed in our uniform. The fellow would crawl along and watch his chance to join our work party, with them he would work until an hour or so before daylight and then vanish with complete lack of ostentation, probably carrying valuable information regarding our mining operation. Such a task certainly requires courage and no one could help admiring a man who would take the risks.
Each of our officers took turns in conducting the work parties, and my turn happened on a fine and fairly quiet night. After handing over my men to the various tasks allotted to them by the mining officer, I visited their dugout, had a bite of supper and then accepted the invitation to go down the shafts. These were about one hundred feet deep and we went down on rope ladders. I was glad that many years of my early life had been spent at sea as it made the ladder descent a little less unpleasant.
On arriving at the bottom, I was allowed to take one of the listening devices, a sort of microphone which was fastened in the ground. By listening carefully I could hear the Germans working at their mines, apparently very near. It was an uncanny, queer, and not at all pleasing sensation being down there in the dark damp hole listening to men working with the sole object of blowing you to pieces, and I could not help thinking of what would happen should they decide to set off their mines while I was down in the stuffy, heated and very cramped place. To tell the truth I did not enjoy the experience and was only too glad when my guide had finished his inspection and suggested returning to the surface again, but my joy was short lived for on arriving at the top I found that I was expected to go down two more of the shafts. Pride alone prevented my saying that I had had quite enough to satisfy my curiosity, especially as I was being entertained by blood-curdling stories of how mines had been fired by the Huns at unexpected moments with horrible results to the wretched men who were working below.
In going along the trenches I noticed cages of canaries and thought how nice it was for the men to have their pets with them, they gave a sort of touch of home. I was however, surprised to learn that these birds are taken down the saps as a test of the purity of the air. If they die the men know that the air is foul and unfit for human beings to breath so the supply of fresh air sent down by the pumps must be increased immediately. 'Not so very home-like after all!
It appeared that when we first took over this part of the line, the Germans had the advantage in the mining, but that for some time past our fellows had gained in every point. We had found a way of ascertaining when the enemy intended to fire his charge and thereafter we invariably fired ours first, with results entirely satisfactory from our point of view. This underground form of fighting is one of the many strange and ghastly developments of modern warfare and perhaps none calls for a greater degree of nerve control. It is no wonder indeed that the men frequently break down under the long-continued strain of working in awkward, cramped positions, the terrible suspense, and the long hours spent in the foul air, and it is astonishing that human beings can be found who will volunteer for it, knowing well what hardships it entails.
Shortly before daylight appeared, I was told that the men had completed their tasks and that they had given entire satisfaction and only one had been wounded (they were nearly all miners and thoroughly understood everything connected with the work they had been doing), so we made our way out along the narrow crooked trenches and arrived at our village in good time for breakfast.
