"No Road To Glory" by A. R. Thompson

"Four hundred yards..."

     "Shells droned overhead, searching out dumps and batteries in the back areas; scout machines flew back and forth over the front.  The day wore on uneventfully, almost monotonously.  A machine gun spat intermittently; a sniper's bullet sang.  The air was filled with a medley of those humming, buzzing sounds like a chorus of insects in July.  The men in 'D' Company amused themselves in various ways.  Cards and Crown and Anchor boards had been pulled from pockets and packs, and several games were always in progress.  Others smoked and chatted about the things they missed and yearned for;  some slept, stretched full length in the sun.

     "With the coming of night, the Company bestirred itself, for under cover of darkness the bulk of the work was done.  The Deb., as Jones had been nick-named, was detailed with his platoon to act as a ration party and take supplies from the transport wagons, which came up to this reserve trench, to the front line company.  They moved over land as far as the support line where they dropped into a communication trench.  Here the going was slow, as it was still sticky from a recent rain.  Presently they reached the front line where all was as quiet as the grave.  Conversation with a 'A' Company officer disclosed the Hun as very quiet so far, and rather suspected of being up to something.
     ' How far from the German Lines?' asked Jones, staring into the darkness across that stretch of waste called No-Man's Land.
     ' About four hundred yards.  It's quite a respectable distance, and gives a chap a chance to breathe out loud.  If you've delivered your goods though, you'd better get away;  we're sending out a wiring party, and if Heinie gets wise he may send greetings."
     ' It was certain he had already got his nightly windup as flares were now popping all along the line.  The ration party was impatient to be off."

Tomorrow:  "Footslogger/ wiring-officer Jones and his "intimate association with barb wire."

[To the new Reader:  In order to follow Jones' story chronologically, you may want to begin with Tuesday, November 4th blog post.]

"No Road To Glory" by Major A.R. Thompson

    

 
"The 4th Battalion was at Neuville St. Vaast, dawdling until dusk when they would move off to take over their piece of the front.
      The newcomer was introduced to the Colonel and others of Headquarters staff, and was posted to "D" Company, No. 16 Platoon.  At the order to fall in, the Company Commander gave some brief instructions and the whole moved off at a slow, ambling gait in formation of Indian file.  Each platoon was headed by a guide, furnished from the out-coming battalion. Over the crest of the ridge past Farbus Wood they led.  The skeletons of trees - mere stumps and amputations - stood forth like ghostly sentinels, fantastic in the gathering gloom.

[That night, Jones had been tired and somewhat homesick.  He had fallen asleep thinking "a lot of things he couldn't tell to anyone, not even to the Colonel."]

By the side of the road a carrion horse lay where it fell.  The carcass, which was full blown out from putrid gases, stenched and stank most horribly.  Suddenly the column, trudging silently into the night, came under fire.  A rushing sound, that filled the air, screamed past and roared beyond, as shell after shell followed in quick succession.  Each one seemed closer than the last, and bursting rocked the grounds.  Jones rubbed his eyes and wondered - could they all be hit but he?  The whole platoon was stretched upon the ground.  The guide who, a moment before, had walked beside him, and all those following behind, were down.  By what miracle had he been saved?  Now, they were up again.  What did it all mean?
     'My God, Sir,' said a Non-Com, 'That last was a close one.  You'd better duck if we get another like that.'
     Then he understood.  'On the hands down,' which had always seemed a good deal of a bore before breakfast, had been particular training for the useful trick of ducking.
[...]
As the debutante subaltern became acquainted, his feeling of strangeness wore away.  Talk of Toronto, Hamilton, Brantford, and other familiar places in old Ontario brought the spirit of home to his unfamiliar surroundings.  He swapped yarns;  made friends with his Sergeants and Corporals, and took unto himself a batman, a red-haired, cheery-faced farm lad called Sowers."

Tomorrow: Four Hundred Yards From the German Lines.



"Drew" A. R. Thompson

[Map Source:  Neuville St. Vaast:  Wikipedia]

"No Road To Glory"

Le Havre

"At last Jones received orders to join his Battalion in the war zone.  He left the night-club life at the base without regret, and wondered if the front line trenches could be any hotter than Le Havre.

 

The first stage to rail-head was hardly a cheerful affair.  It was an all-night journey, and quarters were rather too cramped for anything but a hedgehog.  There were six occupants in the compartment, and four of these were morose and gloomy, as they were returning from leave.  A ration of bully beef and hard-tack had been issued before entraining, and the novelty, coupled with the idea of real campaigning, rather appealed to Jones.  When he gave voice to his enthusiasm, an Austrian, a particularly hard-boiled specimen of that rugged species, ruffled at having to leave London for 'Somewhere,' cussed the rookie for a 'damned young fool.' "

The Family Home in Haldimand that Thompson Left Behind to Go to War

[Tomorrow:  "On The Hands Down."]

[Written by Major A.R.Thompson for the Canadian Military Gazette.  Thompson's own experiences appeared as a series in the publication during the war years 1940s]

We would be amiss if we didn't mention the great books available for the person interested in local history.

Visit The Neat Little Bookshop for books by local authors ~ books about subjects close-to-home that family and friends might not "spring-for" themselves but undoubtedly would be happy to receive as a gift.  They may just share with you.

"No Road to Glory"

Harfleur, France

"Months of intensive, extensive and expensive training elapses before young Jones set foot upon the soil of France.  Stepping down the gangplank of the Channel packet which had crossed under cover of darkness from Folkestone, he felt that at last the great adventure had begun in earnest.  Harfleur, France had fanned the flames of fanciful reflection.  It conjured up visions of the English King, Henry, who, after he had captured the ancient port in 1415 marched on to the brilliant victory of Agincourt.  Now the old town was a British camp occupied by British troops, not as enemies and invaders, but as allies and comrades-in-arms.  Those little red patches of the 1st Division which he had recently acquired, seemed to be his golden spurs of knighthood.

"Three weeks were spent in idling at the base.  These days would have proved boring enough but for the excellence of the dinners at Tortoni's.  This restaurant was a famous rendezvous for the beginning of the ending of a spree in those days of wine, women and song, days of a last carousal before the plunge into the unknown -- the hazard with death.  It may seem strange that lads of conventional upbringing, about to enter into the valley of the shadow, should turn a deaf ear to the teachings of the Almighty and spend their last moments of security with the devil as a buddy.  However, most of the army were gamblers, playing their stakes, life against death, and pleasure against perdition.  Were God a Mrs. Grundy, then are the cenotaphs mere empty tombs indeed.

"At last Jones received orders to join his Battalion in the war zone."

~ NO ROAD TO GLORY, by Major A. R. Thompson, late 4th Battalion, C.E.F.

Tomorrow: The 4th Battalion.  [Graphics:  Wikipedia]

"No Road To Glory"

Major A. R.. Thompson "Drew"

"At a field dressing station Jones asked for rum, and someone passed him a cigarette tin full.  He gulped down the fiery liquid seeking oblivion but still he could find no ease.  Writhing, he tried to turn, and put his weight on Sowers' mangled leg.
'Lieutenant Jones here?' called a voice.
'He's inside,' answered an orderly.  'Be careful where you tread, they're all pretty bad and the place is crammed full.'
'Hello Jonsey old chap," said Church, 'your platoon ran right into that little strafe -- about eight bulls on the duck walk.  Just three of your men turned up.  They told a pretty bad story.  Jolly sent me back to find out what had happened.  What was your strength goin in?"
'Thirty-on.'
'Three arrived with whole skins; ten are lying out there dead, probably a few more drowned;  fifteen, counting you, are here; they just about wiped you out.'
'H--?' queried Jones.
'Dead, the first I saw as I come along.'
'Poor chap,' sobbed Jones, 'five minutes sooner we'd have been all clear.  We waited all to long for H--.  Tonight, which was it, chance or destiny?"

Written by Major A. R. Thompson (Drew). Major Thompson served overseas with the famous 4th Battalion, C.E.F. and was for a time brigade wiring officer of the First Brigade.  "No Road to Glory" appeared in serial form in the Canadian Military Gazette during the Second World War.

~ Canadian Military Gazette  NAVY -- ARMY-- AIR FORCE, Established 1885.

[In the days leading up to November 11, The Neat Little Bookshop will follow one soldier's story in the first World War.]

The Giller Prize ~ Six Top Books/ The Best in Canadian Fiction

The Betrayers by David Bezmozgis
Tell by Francis Itani
Us Conductors by Sean Michaels
The Girl Who Was Saturday Night by Heather O'Neill
All My Puny Sorrows by Miriam Toews
The Ever After of Ashuvin Rao by Padma Viswanathan

The Prize will be awarded downtown Toronto on Monday, November 10, 2014.  Aired on CBC T.V. at 9:00 p.m. Live-streamed on CBC Books.  The Scotiabank Prize was founded in 1994 by Jack Rabinovitch to honour his wife, literary editor, Doris Giller.  The winner will be awarded $100,000. The remaining finalists will take home $10,000.

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