WITH THE IMMORTAL
SEVENTH DIVISION

By the Rev.

E.J. KENNEDY

Chaplain Major to The Expeditionary Force.

With a Preface by the Right Reverend the

LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER

HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXVI

TO
MY WIFE
AND
HELP-MATE OF MANY YEARS.

PREFACE

Having known him, and admired him from the time when I admitted him to Priest's Orders in South London, down to the day when at my request he addressed our Diocesan Conference upon the challenge given to the Church by the war, and the claims and needs of the men of our Army returning from the Front,—a subject on which he glowed with eagerness,—it is a happiness to me to bespeak for his words an attention which will certainly be its own reward.

I trust the book may do a little to lessen the loss which (to human vision) the best interests of our country and her people have suffered by his early and unexpected death.

EDW. WINTON.

Farnham Castle,
November, 1915.

EDITOR'S NOTE

Chaplain Major E.J. Kennedy, the writer of this little book, returned to his parish of St. John the Evangelist, Boscombe, in September 1915, having completed his year's service with the Expeditionary Force. Fired with a deep sense of the need of rousing the Home Church and Land to a clearer realization of the spiritual needs of 'Our Men' and armed with the approval of the Archbishop of Canterbury and the approval and consent of his Diocesan, he determined to spend a certain amount of his time in the strenuous work of lecturing up and down the country, in addition to his many parochial duties. Immediately on his return he plunged into this work, without taking any rest after his arduous labours at the Front. On Tuesday, October 19, he was lecturing in Liverpool and Birkenhead. On Wednesday he was taken ill, and on Thursday he returned home. On the following Monday he succumbed to the disease which doubtless he contracted at the Front.

In the passing of Major Kennedy the Church and Nation have lost a man who could ill be spared. So simple in his faith, so fearless and powerful in his preaching, he was a man who wielded an influence almost unique in this country. Those who have been benefited by his ministry are not counted by hundreds but by tens of hundreds. His influence with the men at the Front was extraordinary. A soldier writes, 'I was awfully sorry to hear of Mr. Kennedy's death. It came so sudden too. I expect he would not wish for a better death than dying practically in his country's cause. He will be greatly missed, his place will not be easily filled. Unfortunately there are not many men of his stamp in the world. He was "white" all through, a thing as rare as it is valuable. He was a real manly Christian gentleman.' This letter is typical of hundreds which have been received from all parts of the world, including the Front, so wide and far reaching was the sweep of his influence.

Of him it may be truly said, 'He was God's man.' Many in all schools of thought and walks of life, as they think of him to-day will unconsciously say to themselves what the poet has expressed—

Well done! thou good and faithful servant.

J.H.

CONTENTS

THE SEVENTH DIVISION

CHAPTER IToC

THE SEVENTH DIVISION

'A telegram, sir!' and a mounted orderly who had ridden over from Larkhill, stood outside my tent at the Bustard's Camp, Salisbury Plain, at 5 a.m., on September 17, 1914.

In that remote part of the world so removed from the benefits of ordinary life, we were yet in receipt of our daily papers at that early hour in the morning, and I was enjoying a twenty-four hours' history of the world, at the moderate price of a penny, when the brief tones of the orderly aroused me from its perusal. Its contents were startling: 'You have been selected for immediate foreign service. Report yourself early to-morrow morning at the War Office.' For some days past I had been doing duty with my Territorial Battalion, the 7th Hants; but daily I had been hoping that I might be able to throw in my lot with the great mass of men, who had volunteered at the call of King and country.

During the month of August I had been shut up at the Riffel Alp with some seventy other unfortunates; kicking our heels in enforced ignorance when we would fain have been near the centre of information, if not of service. Unable to travel owing to the railways of Switzerland and France being required for the mobilization of troops, we could only possess our souls in patience. It was a time never to be forgotten, for although our English blood was stirred by the rumours that reached us of an expeditionary force being landed in France, under General Sir John French, and of even greater significance, the mobilization of the English Fleet, yet our only source of information was derived from the Corriere della Sera, the communiqués of which were supplied by the Wolff Agency. Our state of mind can be readily imagined when I mention such points of reliable news as the 'Destruction of the English Fleet; Death of Sir John French; Invasion of England; London taken; Bank of England in flames.' Of course we knew that this was false, and yet there was no possibility of rebutting the statements.

For nearly a month we alternated between hope and fear. The effect of the bright Swiss sunshine would at times render us optimistic, and then the fall of night would once more see us plunged into the depths of a helpless pessimism. However, the time came when the little English colony struggled through the difficulties of railway transport, and arrived once more in the region of authentic information. The journey home, which occupied three days, was full of interest, for France was throbbing with 'la guerre' and 'la gloire'; train after train with troops bound for the Front, swept by us; while at Lyons we encountered an ambulance train full of wounded, and another of German prisoners. My party had the advantage of travelling with the wife and son of a Cabinet Minister, and through Sir E. Grey's kind solicitude for his colleague's people, the best possible accommodation was provided for us, but even that powerful interest was not always sufficient to prevent delay and discomfort. On reaching Creil, the junction for Belgium, we found the station full of English troops in their retreat from Mons, and many were the stirring stories gathered from our retiring, but not disheartened men. The spirit of the French troops much impressed us; unaccompanied, my ladies went among them with confidence, and on every hand were treated with the consideration of gentlemen. I remarked on this to a French gentleman who was travelling with us, and he said with warranted pride, 'But they are gentlemen, monsieur.' Some of the wounded French took the greatest interest in describing to us the circumstances under which they had been hit,—some, as the manner of soldiers is, displayed the bullet or piece of shrapnel which had laid them low.

Nearly all the troop trains going to the Front were decorated with flowers and evergreens, whilst the stations and villages were alive with enthusiastic people assembled to cheer their men onward to their glorious and dangerous task.

It was with thankful hearts and very travel-stained persons that we finally reached home, heartily agreeing after our exciting experiences that a little goes a long way.

I had at the earliest moment possible volunteered my services to the Army Chaplains Department, but was informed that there was no prospect at that time of my being called upon; accordingly I joined my Territorial Battalion, under Colonel Park, and was awaiting a summons to service, here, there, or anywhere, when, as I have described, the call came. I have often wondered why the War Office always springs upon one with such alarming suddenness; possibly it is the way of the Army; it is certainly disconcerting, although it is educational, for it teaches one to be always ready and alert for any emergency.

And now the order had come, and there was hurrying to and fro; a rapid dash home; a putting together of kit which would be required in the unknown life about to be entered upon. A last night at home; and then the reporting of oneself at the War Office; the signing of a contract for twelve months' service; a medical examination as to physical fitness; an hour or two's shopping at Harrods (where one developed a tendency to think of everything not wanted, and to forget what was really useful); and finally Waterloo Station, that scene of many farewells. 'Good-bye' has so many significations. It may be uttered at the parting for a couple of hours; it may be uttered, and often is, in these days as the final word on earth to much loved ones. Oh, these partings! how they pull a man's heart to pieces; and yet, with that remarkable insularity which characterizes our race,—or should I say races—it is one of the things seldom or never mentioned among men on service; and yet I suppose it is always uppermost in a man's mind. Again and and again I have lit upon men in out of the way corners, reading a well worn letter, or perchance gazing at a photograph, every facial lineament of which was already well stamped upon the mind of the gazer. It is one of the mental attitudes which go to form a spirit of comradeship; the feeling that it is all part of the game, and we are most of us tarred with the same brush.

I had received my orders at the War Office, to join the Seventh Division then mobilizing at Lyndhurst.

The Seventh Division! that meant very little to me, and indeed to the public generally at that time, but what it signified to the nation will be more fully appreciated when the history of this war is written.

It may be interesting to give particulars of the composition of that, which I believe is the first Division ever to march out of an English camp fully equipped.

Under the command of Major-General T. Capper, C.B., D.S.O.,[1] now Sir Thomson Capper, K.C.M.G., C.B., D.S.O., it represented the very flower of our Army, possessing a Staff of most capable officers.

It consisted of:—

Divisional Signal Company;
Divisional Mounted troops;
Northumberland Hussars;
Cycle Company;
Four Brigades of Artillery (R.H.A., R.F.A., R.G.A.);
Two Batteries R.G.A.;
Divisional Ammunition Column;
Divisional Engineers, two Field Companies;
20th Infantry Brigade,—
Brig.-General H.G. Ruggles Brise, M.V.O.;
Brigade-Major A.B.E. Cator.

2nd Scots Guards;
1st Grenadier Guards;
2nd Border Regiment;
2nd Gordon Highlanders;
21st Infantry Brigade,—
Brig. H.E. Watts, C.B.;
Brigade-Major Captain W. Drysdale.
2nd Bedford Regiment;
2nd Yorks;
2nd Royal Scots Fusiliers;
2nd Wiltshire Regiment;
22nd Infantry Brigade—
Brig. S.T.B. Lawford;
Brigade-Major Captain G.M. James, The Buffs.

2nd The Queens;
2nd Royal Warwick Regiment;
1st Royal Welsh Fusiliers;
1st South Staffs Regiment.

Divisional Train;
Four Companies Divisional Medical Units;
21st Field Ambulance;
22nd Field Ambulance
23rd Field Ambulance

The mobilization of a Division for Active Service is a vast business; everything has to be thought of and provided; there must be a thorough equipment for the men, horses, and transport; medical stores, saddlery, farriery, etc., etc., not a thing must be forgotten, for in those early days of the war there was no well-equipped Ordnance Department on the other side. Each Field Ambulance is a dispensary on wheels, comprising the hundred and one field comforts which warfare rightly provides for the lamentable wrecks that pass through the hands of the R.A.M.C.

The question of horses is no slight undertaking, and certainly gives rise to no little heartburning, as every mounted officer naturally tries to secure a good mount. To me it was a specially serious matter; when a man walks 15.8 and rides another two stone at least, considerable care has to be exercised in the selection of his equine friend, who has to bear with him the fatigues, trials and risks of a campaign. I shall ever feel the deepest obligation to Captain Kennedy Shaw, O.C., Remounts Department, Salisbury, for supplying me with one of the best horses I have ever ridden; a big upstanding bay, with black points; deep chested; good quarters; with the most perfect manners, even under the heaviest fire, which could be desired. Strangely enough his name (which was tied to his halter) was 'Ora Pro Nobis,' a not inapt cognomen for a padré's horse. He must have come out of a good stable, and I often felt that someone must have hoped that he would fall into good hands. Should this by any chance be read by the owner, let me say that both my groom and I took the greatest care of my good steed until the day when German shrapnel ushered him into 'the eternal hayfield.'

They were happy days at Lyndhurst, where the Division remained for a fortnight. The future stress of awful losses was only a bare possibility then, although it was on the horizon of many men's hearts; but at the time it was ignored, for many of the officers had their women folk staying, either in the village, or near at hand; and the lawn of the 'Crown,' the Divisional Head-quarters, was a bright and happy centre of pleasurable intercourse.

It was a strange experience to be ushered into the very vortex of a soldier's life, although my experience of military camp life was not a new one; in far back years happy service in a kilted regiment had left a mark which time has not effaced.

A very cordial reception from General Capper set me at my ease; whilst Brig.-General Ruggles Brise, to whose Brigade I was attached, and to whose kindness and courtesy I owe much, assured me of the good will of the powers that be. The General posted me to the 20th Brigade—a noble appointment indeed; for such troops as the Grenadier Guards, Scots Guards, Gordon Highlanders and Border Regiment were good enough for any man.

The Parade Services I held while at Lyndhurst were an inspiration. The prayer card issued by the Chaplain-General was greatly appreciated by officers and men. I arranged for the distribution of 15,000 of them in the Division, and they were eagerly accepted by all from the Generals downwards. On many an occasion in the after days I came across these cards tucked away in the lining of the caps of dead and wounded men. Nothing can exceed the beautiful simplicity of the prayer, a copy of which I venture to insert:—

The other Chaplains of the Division were:—

It was on October 4 when my wife, daughter and myself were about to take tea with Captain Douglas of the Staff—alas! now dead—and his wife, that he hurriedly rode out of the 'Crown' saying, 'The order has come to stand by.' The news was welcome, for we were growing weary of waiting. Immediately the troops began to move off; the unit to which I was attached—23rd Field Ambulance which served the 20th Brigade—left at 2.45 a.m., reaching Southampton about six. It is of interest to note that a Division of troops of over 15,000 men makes a brave show upon the road, its length from the van to the rear being not less than twelve miles.

Apparently the cheering folk along the road passed a sleepless night, for at every hamlet and village people lined the road, waving us their farewells; and from many a cottage window kindly faces could be seen silhouetted against the light of the room, cheering us onward with hearty words.

The embarkation at Southampton was a busy scene, and took many hours to accomplish, but finally fourteen huge transports got under way, and steamed up Channel for Dover. There we 'stood off and on' until 9 p.m. on October 6, when picking up our pilot we steamed out into the Down in the quiet of the autumn night.

The names of the officers who composed the mess of the 23rd Field Ambulance were: Major Crawford (now Lieut.-Colonel), Major Brown, Captain Wright, Lieut. McCutcheon, Lieut. Mackay, Lieut. Hart, Lieut. Priestly, Lieut. Wedd, Lieut. Beaumont, Lieut. Jackson (quartermaster), Col. the Rev. W. Stevenson Jaffray, and the writer; on the whole a very cheery, hard-working set of officers, whose work met with high appreciation of Head-quarters, in due course.

Many conjectures were on foot as to our destination, but when we found the course was north-east, we knew that France was out of the question, and Belgium loomed large in our imagination.

The scene was an eerie one as the black hulls of the vessels moved quietly over the placid sea, with a protective squadron of torpedo destroyers surrounding us. It was sufficiently risky to give a piquance to the experience.

The Admiralty had laid mines from the Goodwin Sands to the Belgium coast, and it was a remarkable feat of pilotage which took the whole fleet through this mine zone in safety to its destination. The naval officer who acted as pilot to the Victorian, on which I was aboard, informed me the next morning that it had been the most anxious night of his life, and I can well understand it, for the responsibility upon a man, under such circumstances, was a heavy one.

Coming on deck in the early hours of the following morning I saw the low-lying Belgium coast bathed in sunlight; Zeebrugge lying a couple of miles to the east. It was with a very thankful heart that I realized that the first risky stage of our movement towards the Front was over.

In due course we warped in alongside of the massive Mole at Zeebrugge; and admired the huge proportions of a quay, which I understood had been built by the Germans. Large as it was, there was not sufficient room for all the fleet of transports, so half the Division landed at Ostend and joined us later.

The landing scene was stirring, and full of interest. All sorts of troops were mixed together in apparently inextricable confusion; Guardsmen, Highlanders, Linesmen, Sappers, Gunners, Cavalry and the ubiquitous A.S.C. were moving about in the keen delight of being on the soil that they had come to free from the oppressor; but the miracle of military order and discipline soon evolved order out of chaos; and the whole column moved off for its nine or ten mile trek to Bruges.

With elastic step and cheery voice the men swung along to the inspiring strains of 'Tipperary.' The road was typical of Belgium; the long avenue of poplar trees, flanked by broad ditches, being the distinguishing feature of this and most Belgium roads (the centre being composed of cobbles, with macadam tracks on either side). Every one felt keen, and the horses, fresh from forty-eight hours' confinement in their very close quarters between decks, enjoyed the freedom as much as the men.

On reaching Bruges, which was in total darkness, owing to the fear of enemy aeroplanes, we received our instructions to proceed to an outlying suburb of the city; and presently drew up in a field, bounded by houses of the humbler description. The early morning was distinctly autumnal, and a ration of biscuit, bully beef and steaming hot tea was not to be despised. Late though it was, many people were about, occupying themselves by gazing, half in wonderment and half in admiration, at the first visit of khaki to their neighbourhood.

FOOTNOTES:

THE TREK THROUGH BELGIUM

CHAPTER IIToC

THE TREK THROUGH BELGIUM

My first experience of billeting was sufficient to prove the very arbitrary character of the whole proceeding. Imagine some one hundred and fifty men, and twelve officers, suddenly appearing in a small outlying street of the far-famed Belgian city, at the untimely hour of 4 a.m., and all clamouring for a night's lodging. To begin with, it was not an easy matter to arouse the slumbering people; and the billeting party had to wait long before each door, ere slippered feet were heard along passages, and drowsy voices inquired suspiciously as to our business; then appeared more or less clad figures, who gazed anxiously at the cloaked men standing at the door (for the Germans lay at the back of every mind). However, the talismanic charm of 'Englishmen' did wonders. It was 4.30 a.m. before I tumbled into an extremely comfortable bed, and had barely laid my head upon the pillow—so it seemed—when a great knocking at the door aroused me with a start from vivid dreams of home, as an orderly entered the room with the alarming statement that the column was moving off in ten minutes. It was seven o'clock, and I felt inclined for another twelve hours in bed; there were no ablutions that morning. A flying leap into my clothes; a most indiscriminate packing of my valise, which I left my servant struggling with, in an inexperienced attempt to roll it up correctly, and I swallowed a cup of coffee which my kind hostess had provided for me (why is coffee always so hot when one is in a hurry?), and I mounted my horse in the nick of time to fall in with my column as it moved off.

It was a long weary march over a very flat country, intersected with dykes, and only broken by the ubiquitous poplar trees; and one had ample time to think, and sometimes doze, as we marched along on our twenty-five mile trek. At the midday halt, a little diversion enlivened the proceedings in the shape of pulling two bogged horses out of a narrow cut where they had been 'watered.' We managed with the help of ropes and planks to get the poor brutes on to terra firma again, more dead than alive.

Then on and on, hour after hour, halting ten minutes each hour for a needed breather and rest, until Ostend hove in sight. Visions of a comfortable billet rose before one's luxurious mind, but no such luck; right through the city we marched, finding the station square crammed with terror-stricken and most wretched-looking refugees; until, some four miles out, we lighted upon the most filthy and forsaken place to be found on the map of civilization—Steene. The houses were so vile and malodorous, that it was with great reluctance the O.C. allowed the men to enter. By this time it was very dark and very cold, and it was with purely animal instinct that we found the way to our mouths in the darkness, and tried to make believe that we enjoyed the biscuit and bully beef which formed our rations.

Then came the somewhat important question of where to sleep. I deemed myself among the fortunate in securing a stretcher, and dossed in a transport wagon; a tired man might have a worse bed than that, and I slept the sleep of the weary and, as I would fain hope, of the righteous.

The following morning, as it seemed likely that we should remain at Steene for at least another day, I cast round for something more comfortable in the way of a billet, and had secured three rooms at the worthy Burgomaster's for the O.C., Mr. Jaffray and myself, and was about to enjoy a more or less comfortable tea in the open, when an orderly rode up with orders to trek back to Bruges.

In a few minutes the camp was struck, and once more we moved on. I felt that I could enter into the spirit of the well-known refrain—

As we retraced our steps through Ostend, we found a large and acclaiming crowd lining the route. As I rode just behind the Gordons, who were marching with their usual swinging step, I was amused to hear a Belgian woman ask her friend, 'And who are those?' pointing to the Highlanders. 'Oh,' was the reply, 'those are the wives of the English soldiers.' The gay Gordons were greatly incensed on my setting before them their new status.

In the centre of the city I came across my friend Peel (padré of the 22nd Brigade; he has since won a military cross, and gained the universal love of his men by his gallant conduct and splendid ministry). He had somehow or other lost his Brigade, and being thus stranded, had slung his batman up behind him on his horse and was proceeding with unruffled dignity in the direction of the line of march.

It was late at night and raining as it seldom rains in dear old England, when we splashed ankle deep in water, over the cobbled streets of Bruges, the stones being too slippery to permit of riding. Hungry and tired we slouched along, until we came to the Monastery of St. Xavier, at St. Michel, some two miles out of the city. Never shall I forget the kindness extended to us by the lay brothers; especially one, Brother Sylvester. I hope if these lines should ever reach his eye, that he will accept the grateful thanks of those who benefited by the charitable goodness of the Order, and especially his own.

The men were speedily billeted in sweet straw, laid down in the upper dormitories of the building; whilst the hundred and twenty horses were stalled in the spacious stables; and beds provided for the officers in the dormitories. But what was better still, after the men had been attended to (and this is the invariable rule, men first) we regaled ourselves upon tea and bread and butter in the bakehouse, where, in front of the huge fire, we toasted our benumbed extremities and dried our sodden clothing. After such a night's rest, as only comes to fagged-out men, we awoke to a golden-tinted autumn morning, which brought to us the joy of living; and once more we felt ready for the onward trek. I have since learned that the Division was originally destined to relieve Antwerp, but the sudden fall of the city set the enemy free to march on Calais; and so the Seventh Division, with the Third Cavalry Division, under Sir Julian Byng, the whole commanded by Sir Henry Rawlinson, was sent post haste to intercept his advance in the neighbourhood of Ypres. And thus the small force of under thirty thousand men pressed on to the heroic task of holding up the main body of the enemy; not less than two hundred and forty thousand men.

Later on I shall have something to say about the prolonged encounter which is historically known as the 'first battle of Ypres.' But meantime it may be of interest to my readers to give an outline of our rapid trek through Belgium.

Leaving our hospitable quarters at Bruges, the column, which seemed interminable, marched to Beernem. At this place I was fortunate enough, with my brother chaplain, Mr. Jaffray, through the forethought of Mr. Peel, to secure a bed. The accommodation was rough, and the little estaminet was crowded with officers, who were only too thankful to sleep on any floor where there was a chance of putting down a valise. I particularly remember this billet, for I thought that I had a chance of distinguishing myself by capturing a spy. Orders had been issued, stating that a certain 'Captain Walker,' posing as a R.A.M.C. officer, was visiting our troops, and picking up stray crumbs of information; should such a person be encountered he was to be immediately arrested. I had just turned in, when amid the babel of conversation which came from downstairs, I caught the name 'Walker.' Slipping quietly down the ladder which served as a staircase, I listened for a moment or two at the door, and from what I heard, gathered that I had spotted my man; and suddenly appearing as an apparition in pyjamas, I inquired in somewhat stentorian tones which was Captain Walker? A rosy-cheeked subaltern somewhat sheepishly admitted that he was Lieut. Walker, and I found my hopes dashed to the ground. This was not my only encounter with spies, supposed or real, of which more anon.

A morning stay at Beernem enabled me to improvise a Parade Service, it being Sunday; which was apparently heartily joined in by those attending. The opportunities for such work by chaplains on the trek are few and far between, and it is a question of