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.Nulli Secundus -
'Second to None'
by Terence Cardwell
Chapter
Twenty Six - The Long March
To
the untrained eye, the
activity at Victoria Barracks in Windsor would have
appeared to be chaos. There were horses being harnessed
to wagons, trucks loaded with military equipment of all
types and artillery guns loaded on to carriages, and
soldiers everywhere. The sounds of the activity echoed
from the walls of the barracks, giving an atmosphere of
urgency and determination.
The battalion was preparing to leave for Belgium under
orders of mobilisation, and they knew precisely what
they were doing. This had been anticipated for some
weeks and planned well in advance. The soldiers had
checked and rechecked their guns and sharpened their
bayonets to a razors edge, ready for the coming battle.
Their backpacks were filled with food, clothing,
ammunition, and other essential equipment until they
weighed some seventy-five pounds.
It required a fit, strong and well trained soldier to
carry a pack of such weight, and he was expected to do
it without complaint— which would be seen as a sign of
weakness by his fellow soldiers.
The loading was finally completed. Trucks and wagons
formed into long lines. Horses quietly waited, with an
occasional snort or shake of the head.
These were trained army horses that could charge into
any battle without being panicked by loud noises or
explosions. Their carers were very fond of them and kept
them in tiptop condition. They were regularly cleaned
and combed and looked very capable as they stood waiting
in their harnesses.
The Coldstreamers formed into lines, standing at ease
with their packs on their backs, rifles resting on the
parade ground. They were in drab green-brown uniforms
with flat caps, long gaiters and heavy army boots,
looking nothing like the smart Guards who stood outside
Buckingham Palace. The only thing that distinguished
them from other soldiers was the Coldstream Guards badge
on their shoulders.
Jack took up his position in the second row along with
Bob, George and Jim, standing at ease whilst waiting for
the order to move out.
‘I’m going to miss this place,’ George said quietly. ‘I
wonder when we’ll be back.’
‘Some say we will be back by Christmas.’ Jim replied.
‘All over London they are confident that we will be
back by then,’ Bob added.
‘I wish it were true,’ Jack shook his head. ‘But I feel
in my bones that we won’t be back for some time, if at
all. This is bigger than we realise.’
The Guardsmen went quiet, lost in their thoughts. Jack
thought again of Elizabeth and the marriage they had
enjoyed for the past three months. Jack still thought
her very beautiful, and he enjoyed her bright
intelligence and bubbly personality. The smell of her
perfume, the warm touch of her soft small hands and the
caress of her ebony ringlets against his cheek as he
held her close. He could almost reach out and touch her
in his mind.
r parting words that were emblazoned in his mind
forever.
‘Promise you will come back to me and our baby. Don’t be
brave and get killed.’
‘ I’ve left Elizabeth with our future child alone and
there is nothing I can do about it,’ he thought. ‘Damn
this war. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Now it’s
happened and it could be a long time before I see her
again.’
He was brought out of his dark thoughts as Bob suddenly
said,
‘Hey up— looks like this is it, the Colonel’s arrived.’
The colonel of the battalion, Colonel Piriera, mounted a
dais followed by his staff captains. He looked at the
men waiting in columns and the wagons behind them.
‘Tonight we are about to leave on one of the most
perilous and dangerous duties in the history of the
Coldstream Guards,’ he began.
‘As you know, Great Britain is at war with Germany and
Austria-Hungary, who have some of the largest and most
highly trained armies in the world. But they will be no
match for the British Army, and you Coldstreamers in
particular.
‘You have been trained to be the finest soldiers in the
world, and I am sure you will acquit your duties bravely
and meritoriously, and return home soon.
‘It is a long journey to Belgium and it will be trying.
But I am sure you will show your stoicism and
determination to see it through.
‘Nulli Secundus, second to none, is our motto, and
rightly so. You Guardsmen will lead the British
Expeditionary Forces into this war and possibly be the
last to leave.
‘I hope that will be soon and you all return home
safely.’
The colonel paused, and then said, ‘I have a message
from the King.’
He looked around at the troops then read the message.
My
message to the Troops of the Expeditionary Forces.
You
are leaving home to fight for the safety and honour of
my Empire.
Belgium, whose country we are pledged to defend, has
been attacked and France is about to be invaded by the
same powerful foe.
I
have implicit confidence in you soldiers. Duty is your
watch word, and I know your duty will be nobly done.
I
shall follow your every movement with deepest interest
and mark with eager satisfaction your daily progress;
indeed, your welfare will never be absent from my
thoughts.
I
pray God to bless you and guard you and bring you back
victorious.
Colonel Piriera folded the message and returned it to
his pocket. He looked over the troops and saluted them
without speaking. He turned and walked down the steps to
the leading car, and climbed into the back. No one could
tell from his stony attitude that he harboured the
greatest fears for the future. He knew first-hand of the
skill of some of the German troops and knew that the war
would be a long and deadly conflict, and not the tea
party that some of his country men and politicians
imagined.
As he had looked at his troops he wondered how many
would come back. ‘And I have to lead them to their
deaths,’ he thought.
The car rocked and brought him out of his thoughts as
Major Markham, the second in command, entered, followed
by the Adjutant Lieutenant AC Dawnay, who nodded to the
sergeant major to call the troops to attention.
‘Battalion, attention!’ he shouted, his cane tucked
under his left arm.
The battalion snapped to attention, the sound of a
thousand boots thumping on the courtyard in unison
echoing from the barrack walls.
‘Right turn!’ he bellowed, and the battalion turned to
face the large open barrack gates.
‘By the left…’ he paused slightly. ‘Quick… march!’
They stepped away, led by the cars carrying the
commanding officers, captains and lieutenants of the
four companies of the battalion, followed on foot by the
sergeant major, sergeants and corporals in that order.
The soldiers followed by seniority and Jack was on the
left side, second row of the column.
He could feel the weight of the backpack and was
thankful for his fitness and stamina. He knew he would
need every bit of it before he returned. He felt an
immense pride in his battalion, leading the rest of
Great Britain to war. He would go wherever they were
sent, willingly, and fight to the end if necessary. This
did not stop him believing it was madness to fight and
sacrifice good men for a useless cause that England
would never benefit from.
‘Where the bloody hell is Serbia, anyway?’ was a
question often asked around the barracks; the answer
invariably being, ‘Buggered if I know or care— somewhere
in the middle of Europe.’
As he marched through the barrack gates he straightened
up a little more. The terrible apprehensive thoughts
still remained.
He looked up towards the upper floors of the barracks,
where the married quarters were. He knew precisely where
his room was, and looking at the window thought he could
see a shadow, but it was too dark to be sure.
‘Goodbye, my beloved Elizabeth, I’ll try to come back.
Goodbye, old walls,’ he whispered. ‘I think it will be a
long time before I see you again.’
Jack was not alone in his thoughts. The other married
men were also looking towards their quarters, wondering
how long before they would see their loved ones again.
The optimists believed soon. Others, like Jack, were
doubtful. But none of the battalion of soldiers passing
through the gates, even in their worst nightmares,
imagined the horrors waiting for them.
The battalion arrived at the local railway station ready
to embark on the journey to Southampton. The
train stood at the station, steam drifting up from
underneath with the occasional puff of steam from the
smokestack. It had six carriages for troops, plus
specially-prepared wagons for the guns and horses, which
the battalion quickly commenced loading. Behind this
train was another, ready to take on the rest of the
battalion when the first train was filled.
These train journeys were the first of eighty-six that
would move the British Expeditionary Forces to
Southampton where they would embark for Le Havre and
other French ports.
Jack and his mates were thankful they were at the head
of the column, and able to board the train rather early,
unload their packs and rifles, and sit down. Although
the seat was only thinly padded it was like a feather
bed to the soldiers.
‘I hope it’s a long, slow trip,’ Jack thought, then fell
asleep thinking of Elizabeth and their future child.
The crossing from Southampton to Le Havre on the SS
Olympia was uneventful. The seas were calm and the ship
rolled only slightly with a beam swell. There were three
battalions of Guards on two ships, the SS Navara and
the SS Olympia, both filled to capacity. The troops
found corners everywhere to relax in. Travelling on the
SS Olympia was the Second Battalion Coldstream Guards
and part of the First Battalion Royal Irish Guards. They
would share many battles in the coming months. On The SS
Navara were the Third Battalion Coldstream Guards and
the remainder of the Irish Guards.
Jack and his fellow Coldstreamers joined a group of
Irish Guards, one of them a Paddy O’leary, who would one
day be awarded the Victoria Cross and would share a
number of experiences with Jack and his fellow
Guardsmen in the near future.
The battalion disembarked at Le Havre on the afternoon
of the 13th of August and formed up into lines. The men
marched the five miles to their holding camp.
The weather was hot and steamy, and the march up a long
steep hill placed a great strain on the men as they
marched in the heat. Jack was bent forward like the rest
of the soldiers. The full weight of the backpacks was
felt heavily as they marched in the oppressive heat. He
looked at Bob and George, who were marching alongside
him. Both were showing signs of strain, but when asked
how they were George gave him the thumbs up. ‘Piece of
cake,’ he replied.
The local people greeted them enthusiastically on their
arrival, running alongside offering wine, water, bread,
and food of all kinds to the thirsty soldiers.
Jack was on the outside and passed the gifts to his
fellow Guardsmen on the inside of the column. Sharing
was an important part of being a Coldstream Guard.
The officers had ordered their men not to accept the
generosity of the local population, fearing it would
affect their physical condition; but to no avail. The
soldiers ignored the half-hearted instructions.
Accepting the gifts with friendly waves and handshakes,
they consumed everything offered. It may not have helped
their physical condition, but it certainly gave their
morale a great boost as they marched up the hill
singing, ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ and ‘Pack
up your troubles in your old kit bag.’
By the time they arrived at their campsite they were
exhausted but in high spirits, boosted by the enthusiasm
of the local inhabitants.
The Second Battalion Coldstreamers camp was shared by
the Third Battalion Coldstream Guards and the First
Battalion Irish Guards, together for the first time to
form part of the 4th Guards Brigade. The
Second Battalion Grenadier Guards would join them in the
next few days.
Tents had been pitched, washrooms constructed and other
sections necessary for the operation of a mobile army
put in place, including the paymaster’s office, an
essential part of any army and one closely monitored by
all the soldiers. The troops settled down in their tents
to much-needed rest, and were called by sections at a
time to have their pay books stamped. The second
battalion second company, and after being stamped, were
given a folded piece of paper.
‘Looks like we’re getting a little extra for being
overseas,’ George remarked.
Bob opened his and read. ‘It says we’re getting ten
pounds each extra.’
A number of Coldstreamers hurriedly opened theirs, only
to be disappointed.
‘You bugger, Bob, I had my hopes up then. I could have
done with that ten quid,’ Jim said.
‘Never mind, what could be better than a letter from
Lord Kitchener?’
‘What the bloody hell would he want to send us a bloody
letter for?’ Jim demanded.
‘To urge us to do our duty to King and Country, and
fight like Englishmen,’ Bob replied.
Jack sat down to read his letter and shuddered at its
inference.
‘Can you read it out to us, Jack?’ Jim asked.
‘Yer, mate. Let’s hear what he has to say about our
holiday abroad,’ another Coldstreamer standing nearby
said.
‘Ok, George is better at it than me,’ Jack replied, ‘but
I’ll give it a go.’ He read aloud:
An
address by Field Marshal Kitchener to the British
Troops:
You
are ordered abroad as a soldier of the King to help our
French comrades against the invasion of a common enemy.
You have to perform a task which will need your courage,
your energy, your patience.
Remember that the honour of the British Army depends on
your individual conduct. It will be your duty not only
to set an example of discipline and perfect
steadfastness under fire but also to maintain the most
friendly relations with those whom you are helping in
this struggle.
The
operations in which you are engaged will, for the most
part, take place in a friendly country, and you can do
your own country no better service than in showing
yourself in France and Belgium in the true character of
a British soldier.
Be
invariably courteous, considerate and kind. Never do
anything likely to injure or destroy property, and
always look on looting as a disgraceful act. You are
sure to meet a welcome and to be trusted; your conduct
must justify that welcome and that trust. Your duty
cannot be done unless your health is sound. So keep
constantly on your guard against any excesses. In this
new experience you may find temptations in both wine and
women. You must entirely resist both temptations, and,
while treating all women with perfect courtesy, you
should avoid intimacy.
Do
your duty bravely,
Fear God.
Honour the King.
KITCHENER
Field-Marshal.
‘Well, that’s it for the girls,’ Bob said after Jack
finished reading. ‘No hanky-panky for us till we get
back to Blighty.’
‘I don’t think there would be too many French girls
rushing us,’ George said laughing.
‘Well, we’ll all have to wait till Christmas, when you
reckon we’ll be back home,’ Jack smiled, doubting the
truth of his words.
They had little time to recover before orders arrived to
entrain the Second and Third Battalion Coldstream
Guards on the evening of the following day, the
fourteenth of August. The Third Battalion left first, at
8.40 in the evening. When they arrived at the railway
station the French rail authorities were not ready, so
they had to wait.
Jack’s battalion departed at 11 p.m. for the railway
station, convinced the Third Battalion had left.
‘I don’t like the look of that,’ Jim said, nodding to
the distant clouds. Although it was night, the clouds
were lit up by flashes of lightning, increasing as they
marched closer.
‘Not to worry,’ Bob replied. ‘We’ll be on the train
soon. Let’s hope we’re there before that lot arrives.’
They arrived at the station shortly after midnight to
find there was no train. The Third Battalion had not yet
left and were still patiently waiting for their train to
arrive.
‘Typical bloody Froggies— they couldn’t organise a beer
hall booze-up,’ Jack cursed.
‘Oh, well, sitting here or sitting at camp, there’s not
much difference,’ George replied. ‘We can just lie down
and have a nap.’
‘I doubt it— take a look at that lot,’ Jim added with
trepidation.
They looked at the coming storm that was now almost
above them. The lightning was almost continuous, and
they could feel a cold breeze blowing, an indication the
storm was about to arrive. Within minutes the storm came
in all its ferocity. The rain was torrential, and
quickly soaked them to the skin. Lightning flashed
almost non-stop, and the officers became concerned that
it might strike the guns or other large metal objects
located among the Guards. They instructed the troops to
move away from any large machinery, but could do little
to ease their discomfort or find any cover from the
rain.
The strong cold wind blew unceasingly, chilling to the
bone all those soldiers caught in its grip, and blowing
away any smaller items not fastened down. The men
huddled together in circles, trying to protect each
other from the storm’s freezing blast, shivering and
cursing the French.
‘This is no way to fight a bloody war,’ George
complained. ‘What chance have we got of winning when the
Froggies can’t even organise a damn train?’
‘Well we’re going to Belgium, so hopefully we don’t have
to rely on them for too long,’ Jack answered.
‘I’m starting to miss the barracks,’ Bob said. ‘Never
thought I’d do that. Oh, for a warm dry bed.’
At one-thirty in the morning they heard a train rumbling
into the railway station.
‘At long bloody last,’ Jim enthused. ‘Now we can get
warm and sit down.’
Bob shook his head. ‘Sorry mate, that’s not for us, it’s
for them,’ he replied, nodding his head towards the
location of the Third Battalion.
‘Sod it,’ Jack cursed. ‘That means we’ll be here for
bloody ages. I wish this storm would bugger off.’
The Third Battalion entrained, watched by the envious
Second Battalion. A few called out to the boarding
soldiers ,but most stood watching, imagining themselves
sitting on the train seats protected from the weather
and ridding themselves of their cursed back packs. The
train departed thirty minutes later, rumbling away into
the distance leaving the Second Battalion Guardsmen
shivering on the platform.
Jack and his fellow Guardsmen were very adaptable. They
forced the coldness to the back of their minds, sleeping
lightly as they stood in the rain. They stood in their
circles with their backs to the storm, leaning against
each other for support.
A steam whistle sounded and they looked up to see a
train rumble into the station, coming to a halt with a
cloud of steam, a scream of brakes and a banging of
wagons. The night sky had given way to a cold grey dawn,
the sky full of rain clouds and no sight of sunlight.
Bob looked at his watch. ‘About bloody time— it’s half
past six; that’s over six bloody hours we’ve been here.’
‘That seat’s going to feel good,’ Jack replied.
‘Hopefully it gets better from here.’
They boarded the train in queues, slowly filling it to
capacity. Jack and his friends were towards the front of
the column, and having boarded the train unloaded their
backpacks and removed their greatcoats to try and dry
them.
The carriage soon warmed up from the body heat of the
Guardsmen and they settled down into their seats. The
air was soon echoing to the snoring of the soldiers.
The rain continued for all of that day, the fifteenth of
August, and the train travelled nonstop through Rouen,
Amiens, Arras, Cambrai, Busigny and Wassigny. The
Guardsmen would get to know these insignificant French
towns very well, and would become famous for the battles
that would be fought there in the future.
At midnight they arrived at Vaux-Andigny where they
detrained and were camped for the rest of the night.
Their clothes had dried only partly, and smelt damp and
musty, filling the carriage with an unpleasant smell;
now the fresh air felt good, and they stretched their
legs gratefully after seventeen hours of sitting.
The following morning, Sunday the sixteenth of August,
they marched in fine, hot sunny weather to Vandencourt
,two miles from Grougis. They were again greeted by
local people with great enthusiasm and generosity. Dense
crowds lined the streets and sides of the roads,
welcoming them with bouquets, chocolates, drinks, and
kisses, waving handkerchiefs and French flags.
As Jack marched in his usual place on the outside, a
pretty, young lady in a bright floral dress that
emphasised her voluptuous figure ran up to him and
planted a passionate kiss on his lips.
‘Velcom soldier, velcom, you are our saviours,’ she
said, taking Jack by surprise.
He felt a little embarrassed in front of the other
Guardsmen, but he smiled back and shook her hand as she
held it in both of hers.
‘Good on ya Jack.’
‘Half ya bleedin’ luck, Jack.’
‘You lucky bugger,’ his companions called alongside him.
The welcoming inhabitants were singing ‘God save the
King,’ interspersed with the French national anthem the
‘Marseillaise’ as they greeted the soldiers.
‘Hey, Jack, let’s swap places,’ Bob said, observing
Jack’s kiss. ‘I’ve got to have me some of that.’
Jack obliged and without missing a step they crossed
over, something they had perfected sometime before.
Bob marched on the outside waiting expectantly for some
young lady to come rushing up and kiss him. Although it
was happening to others up and down the column no one
came to kiss Bob.
‘Looks like you missed out,’ Jack observed with a smile.
‘Yeah, Bob, maybe you’re not kissable enough,’ George
added.
Bob had all but given up hope of receiving a kiss when
one of the women standing on the side of the road waving
a French flag ran out of the crowd towards him. She was
dressed in the typical plain black dress that French
women wore. She was over fifty and well overweight, her
hanging breasts held up by the top of her apron. There
was a black wart on the right side of her large nose and
her black hair was tied in a bun.
She ran from behind Bob’s forward vision. Catching up to
him she grabbed his head between her hands and kissed
him with an open mouth, a passionate wet kiss, refusing
to let go.
Bob was taken totally by surprise and trying to keep in
step, pushed her away after a brief struggle.
‘Monsieur velcom, ve love you, God save the King,’ she
said smiling broadly, her decaying teeth showing widely.
Bob’s eyes bulged and he was lost for words. The taste
and smell of garlic was strong and he felt like being
sick. The others were hanging on to their rifles, trying
not to trip, as they shook with laughter.
‘Oh my God,’ Bob finally said, scrubbing his mouth with
the back of his free hand. ‘Uugh.’
Tears rolled out of Jack’s, George’s and Jim’s eyes, and
those around them were laughing too.
‘Oh Bob, you ladykiller,’ George said between laughing.
‘You’ve still got it, boyo.’
‘Thanks, Bob. You saved me from a fate worse than
death,’ Jack said laughing. ‘That could have been me.’
‘I think I’d rather face the Germans than kiss that,’
Jim gasped as he held himself.
Bob was red from embarrassment, but saw the funny side
and started laughing as well.
Once again the welcoming crowd were singing ‘God save
the King’ and the ‘Marsellaise’. The Guardsmen joined
in as they marched along with smiles on their faces,
occasionally looking at Bob and laughing again.
They arrived at Vandencourt in the evening and remained
there with the Third Battalion Coldstream Guards and the
First Battalion Irish Guards for the next four days.
During this time they practised route marching and were
inoculated against enteric fever, a common disease in
Europe.
On Thursday the twentieth of August the Fourth Guards
Brigade formed up, and led by the Second Battalion
Coldstream Guards they left Vandencourt for Fesmy,
passing through Etreux and Oisy.
Once again the weather was hot. The roads had no shade,
and before long the soldiers began to feel exhausted, a
number of them also suffering from the effects of the
inoculation. They continued to march and thankfully it
was not a long distance; they were very thankful of
their arrival. During the march they were joined by the
First Battalion Coldstream Guards at the town of Oisy,
who had marched from Bouai.
‘Now we’re part of history,’ George said as the First
Battalion joined them.
‘How’s that? You mean because we’re going to war?’ Bob
asked.
‘No not that, but maybe we set some part of history for
that as well. No, this is only the second time ever that
all three of our battalions have been together at the
one time and place in a war situation.’
Two days later was to be another historical event for
the Second Battalion. Living up to their motto of being
second to none they were about to lead the whole of the
British Expeditionary Force into the First World War.
The Coldstreamers led the Fourth Guards Brigade,
continuing on to Maroilles via La Groise and Landrecies,
finally halting at Noyelles, two miles further north, to
rest from the long march.
On the 22nd they again marched in the same
order via Pont Sur Sambre and Hargnies to La
Longueville. They were lead by Colonel Periera who never
seemed to tire or falter.
Once again it was hot and tiring, testing to the limit
the stamina and tenacity of the Guards, but none
wavered, encouraging and supporting each other to go
that extra distance.
‘Bloody hell, what’s that noise?’ Jim stuck his head up
to listen to the rumble in the distance.
‘Damn big guns, that’s what,’ Jack told him. ‘That’s
where we’re heading.’
‘Not me! I’m going home to my mum,’ Jim rolled his eyes,
and George thumped him on the head.
‘Just keep this turnip of a noggin out of range, mate.’
‘What I want to know is how many there are,’ Jack said
after a pause, while the thunder got steadily louder.
‘No mate, that’s the wrong question. The question is,
how many there, are ours. We should be able to tell by
the sound,’ George said. He passed his canteen to Jack,
who took a grateful swig and handed it to Jim.
‘Really?’ Bob the eternal child bit. ‘How can you tell?’
‘Well, our guns are English, right? So they go boom,
boom. Now German guns have a German accent, right?
Stands to reason. So they go bosch, bosch.’
‘Really?’ Bob looked at the dead serious face of his
comrades. ‘I can’t hear the difference.’
‘Not yet no, you’ve got to stand right under where one
of the buggers are about to land, and just before it
hits, you’ll be able to tell the difference,’ George
explained.
‘But…,’ said Bob, working out the problem with this.
‘Never mind mate,’ Jack said, while the others laughed
and Bob swung the canteen at George. ‘You don’t have to
worry unless it’s got your name on it.’
‘And your name’s Twinkle,’ added George, fielding the
canteen and putting it away without breaking step.
‘They must be big guns to make that much noise,’ Jim
observed.
‘What bothers me is the intensity,’ George replied.
‘There must be bloody hundreds of ’em.’
The corporal marching in front of the Coldstreamers had
been listening. ‘You can relax fellas. Those guns are
the Frenchies, and they’re over there,’ He nodded his
head to the front right side. ‘Near a town called
Charleroi. We’re supposed to take up position on their
left, so we must be getting close.’
‘Well, maybe we’ll see an end to this moving around. I
feel as if I’ve been marching all my life,’ George
complained, lifting his rifle straighter for the
umpteenth time.
‘I’d rather march than have those damn great shells land
on us, ‘Jack replied.
‘We’re just lucky we’ve got our boots broken in, I feel
sorry for any new recruits marching on this road in new
boots— it would be murder,’ Bob said.
Someone cursed as he tripped on the uneven cobblestone
road that sloped in all directions, making it very
difficult to march.
‘Thank bloody God for that,’ Bob said when they finally
came to a stop for the evening.
‘Oh, my aching feet,’ Jim groaned, removing his boots
and rubbing them.
Around him many of the Guardsmen were doing the same.
Some poured water over their feet and heads from their
flasks to refresh and cool them. Jack, copied them.
‘Ooh, that feels good,’ he enthused, relishing the
coolness of the water on his feet and head.
After a quick meal they lay down where they were and
quickly fell into exhausted sleep.
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