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.Nulli Secundus -
'Second to None'
by Terence Cardwell Chapter
Twenty Eight - Church bells and bullets
The Fourth Brigade continued their march at 3 a.m. on
August 23, moving towards Mons, along the cobblestoned
roads, crossing the historic battlefield of Malplaquet
at 4 a.m. They marched in pouring rain that soaked
everyone to the skin, leaving them depressed and
fatigued.
They were about to march into history, but in the wet
gray of the early morning there was not the slightest
suggestion that this would happen.
The Second Battalion continued to Hyon, and the Third
Battalion left to go to Harveng, where they stopped at 8
a.m.
The Second Battalion was once again greeted with great
enthusiasm by the local inhabitants, who lavished them
with enormous quantities of hot coffee and new bread,
counteracting the fatigue and depression of the march
and replacing it with the usual cheeriness and optimism
of the men. They marched on, singing with great
impartiality selections from the London music halls and
hymns of all types.
They took up position on the line to the left of the
First Division, from Halchin to Harmignies,
approximately five miles south-east of Mons. The Second
Battalion Coldstream Guards and the First Battalion
Irish Guards were at the southern end of the line. On
their right was the Sixth Brigade, who extended south to
Harmignies
The countryside was bare of any lush growth due to the
ground being mostly chalk. It reached closest to the
surface near Harmignies. Scattered around were old heaps
of slag and low-quality coal, a difficult area to adapt
to defence purposes.
As the rain and mist of the morning gave way to a sunny
Sunday morning of blue skies with patches of white
clouds, the Coldstreamers and the Irish Guards dug their
trenches. The digging was hard going as the ground was
rather hard and did not lend itself to mining. The
extracted rubble was piled up in front of the ditches,
creating a natural defence barrier.
‘This is worse than being in the coal mine,’ George
commented to all in general.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Jack replied. ‘At least we’ve
got some fresh air. I remember times I would have given
a day’s pay to have this breeze blowing on me.’
‘You buggers wouldn’t know what hard ground is,’ Paddy
O’leary replied. ‘Why, the ground in County Kerry is so
hard they use a pick and shovel to do their ploughing.’
‘Aye, I can agree to that,’ another Irish guard said,
shaking his head.
‘And I suppose you grow rock melons,’ George retorted,
the others laughing with him.
‘No, but we grow a lot of stone fruit,’ Paddy replied,
quick as a flash.
Around and in front of them for approximately fifteen
hundred yards the ground was flat sparse grassland
interspersed with water-filled holes and white patches
of chalk. Over to their left about half a mile away was
a large hill rising up steeply at the front but sloping
back at a flatter angle at the back. This was Hill 93,
where the artillery was mounting howitzers and
cannons.
As they dug and hacked through the hard ground they
suddenly stopped in mid-swing.
‘I must be going mad,’ George said. ‘I’m hearing church
bells out here in this God-forsaken place.’
‘I’m hearing them too,’ Jim agreed. ‘Maybe it’s
something to do with this bloody chalk affecting us.’
‘Look, over there. People dressed up in Sunday clothes—
and they’re going to church!’ Bob said in disbelief.
‘And look, there’s another lot!’ He pointed to a group
of locals walking along the road.
The soldiers stopped their digging to watch the Belgian
families walking to church as if nothing uncommon was
happening and their only concern was to attend their
usual Sunday mass. They were dressed in their finest
clothes, suits and hats for the men and flared dresses
and wide bonnets for the ladies. They walked across the
front of the troops, observed by both sides, but no one
shot at them.
The soldiers were dumbfounded, amazed that such bravado
or stupidity could exist; and they stared as the
Belgians calmly walked to church.
‘Would you look at that?’ George said in amazement.
‘You’d think we were on a Sunday school picnic.’
‘They must be bloody mad,’ Jim added.
Shortly afterwards the sound of hymns echoed through the
lines and it gave an atmosphere of unreality, as if they
were in a totally different world, isolated from all
this brutality.
‘I haven’t seen a prayer yet that will stop a bullet;
and it doesn’t matter how loud they sing, the Germans
won’t go away,’ Jack said.
The soldiers looked at each other and shook their heads,
disbelieving and amused.
The light-hearted atmosphere vanished as a screaming
came towards them. A shell exploded a hundred yards
behind, followed by others. The shelling increased in
intensity until it was a continuous wail of sound, as if
all the devils of hell had been let loose. The ground
shook underneath the soldiers, and a feeling of wanting
to hide anywhere welled up within them. They dived to
the bottom of the ditch, lying hard against the front of
the buttress for protection. Some covered their ears
with their hands, trying to block out the noise. Others
wrapped their arms around their heads to protect
themselves from shrapnel.
The air was full of dust and the smell of cordite. Black
clouds from explosions filled the surrounding area as
they drifted across no man’s land.
‘Oh bloody hell, what the hell are we gonna do about
this?’ Jim shouted.
‘Hopefully our artillery might spot ’em and blow the
hell out of them,’ Bob yelled back.
Further along the trench one of the shells had made a
direct hit among the Irish Guards. There was a
gut-wrenching scream as a man lay with both legs blown
off, blood pouring from the stumps. Alongside him was
another soldier with his left arm hanging in shreds, the
left side of his face covered in blood.
Soldiers rushed to their aid, wrapping the stumps in
bandages to stem the flow of blood. They tended to the
soldier with the severed arm and the medics were quick
to take over.
The shells continued to explode around them, mostly
behind, but some landing short and exploding in the open
ground. The noise was deafening. The explosions shook
the earth beneath them and they could feel the
concussion blasts blowing against them.
Several shells landed in front of the trenches,
exploding the freshly dug ground on top of the soldiers
cringing below, burying them.
As if on cue to Bob’s call, a deeper, closer sound
echoed around them. The British Artillery had located
the German guns and opened up with everything they had.
Shells roared from Hill 93 across to the German front.
As the British guns found their targets, the wail of
German shells decreased until only an occasional shell
came over, well off target.
The German shelling stopped. Bob took a slow, careful
look over the top of the parapet. What he saw made his
stomach heave and almost gag in his throat.
‘Oh bloody hell, look at this; we’re in for it now.’
They all leapt to the parapet and looked over the top to
see a mass of grey uniforms five hundred yards away,
coming towards them over the sparse grassland. The men
were bent over, trying to run on the rough ground.
The Guardsmen rested their rifles on the top of the
parapet, sighting on the moving mass of grey.
‘Hold your fire till I give the word,’ the sergeant
major roared along the trench to them. ‘And remember,
stay calm.’
‘Yer, sure,’ said Jim, looking at Jack and the others.
Jack gave him a quick look and a wink. ‘Walk in the park
Jim, a walk in the park.’ The Guardsmen sighted their
Lee Enfield rifles, carefully making sure the settings
were correct, and aimed at the oncoming mass.
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