Lieut. Hugh Montagu Butterworth (Memorial Book)

[stiletto_33853]

Annie,

Glad that you are now enjoying Hugh's words and character now.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

This dug-out life gives one plenty of time to think, I tell you, and the danger is one gets you down to a minor key and stays there. There's no doubt you want to be a man like _________ with absolute faith in the universe, and then you'd sit and listen to the crumps and bless them all. Anyway I feel that I've expiated every crime I ever committed. I fancy that when we warriors fetch up at the Final Enquiry, they'll say 'Where did you perform?' We shall reply, 'Ypres Salient.' They'll answer, 'Pass, friend,' and we shall stroll along to the sound of trumpets and sackbuts. If anyone ever puts me on a salient in private life I shall hate them. Consider a salient. In ordinary war they shoot at you from in front, but in a salient they also enfilade you from both sides, and if they can make the ball turn at all they get you in the back. But now our artillery does that, so that doesn't matter.

If only we'd brought up a pack of cards ! Never again shall we omit to do so. Well, I've perpetrated a lot of drivel to-night. I think I'll gather my Burberry about me and catch a bit of sleep. Unfortunately my dug-out pard will turn up at midnight (unless he's dead) very wet, very profane, and very thirsty, so I shall be awakened and we shall discuss the iniquities of gunners and snipers once again. - I'd give a lot for a snug rubber at Wanganui to-night. I'd compromise on Upokongaro ! Salute the brethren, and tell them that despite several things I remain cheerful. Good-night. God bless the man who invented tobacco. It is a very present help in trouble.

[stiletto_33853]

Saturday, 2.30 p.m., July 17.

Quite a good morning. Wet, I admit, but our gunner-sport has lost his ammunition or wanted sleep, or gone to London or something, and we've been quite peaceful. The first item of interest this morning was the fact that my roof dripped. I got out all my match-boxes and tobacco-lids and cups and so on, and placed a fairly clever field, but soon I found I wanted trhee slips, an extra cover and a short leg. However as I am certain to be wet now until I get out, it doesn't worry me a lot.

Later we found a pack of cards belonging to an acting-corporal and borrowed same, and fixed up a quartette in a ruined barn. Our table was a shutter blown off the chateau near by, covered with sand-bags, our seats water-cans. We had three rather good rubbers, and hope to continue shortly, only it's raining, - and also the Huns are flinging a few over at us in the direction of the barn. We hope to re-incipiate shortly. I think that barring accidents we shall be relieved to-morrow. Of course there's always the chance of an offensive starting in, and then we shall trot up like good little boys and act as living targets.

My word ! this will be some life in the winter. It's chilly and damp enought on a wet day in summer. I tremble to think what winter will be like. Of course one wears goat-skins and gum boots, but even so I shall take very few tickets on it. But it's a long time till then. I can't realize it's summer, as summer without cricket and tennis seems meaningless.

They've just served us out with motor-goggles to keep the fumes out of our eyes. We do look knuts, I tell you.

The modern warrior is not a picturesque sight. He wears a noisome cap with ear-flaps now-a-days and motor cycle goggles. And of course we all get frightfully untidy, except a few men who always manage to look as if they were in Piccadilly. I fear that is not my forte. But never mind !

[stiletto_33853]

Saturday 7 p.m.

Such a peaceful day. Raining - which accounts for it. At 9.15 I bone off with fifty men to meet a guide. They select as our rendezvous the worst shelled spot in Belgium. I don't know what we're going to do; carry stores, I expect. Cheer Ho ! Going out to-morrow !!!!!

[stiletto_33853]

Sunday, 10.30 a.m., July 18.

Had a night of considerable Moistitude. Bumped off from here with fifty men, and met a guide, and all sorts of strange things we had to carry. We strolled off, and after goping some way along an unspeakable road fell into the correct communication trench. Words can hardly describe the state of said trench. It was over ankle-deep all the way in water, and often over the knees. We waded about, fell in, cyrsed, climbed over and under telephone wires, and reached the spot at about mid-night. We got a few whizz-bangs over at that stage, but no damage done. As we started down we ran into a party of two hundred men carrying rations up. Fortunately it was a wide trench and we could swim past each other. I tried to cheer up my down north-country guide by asking (1) if many people had been drowned yet, and (2) if they allowed mixed bathing there, but nothing altered the severity of his outlook. Lancashire probably ! The other party apparently thought we moved too slowly. It is part of the Rifle Brigade religion never to lket parties lose connection. So they came past us in what I was pleased to tell them like 'Column of Rabble.' However it didn't worry us a lot. Later when we got on the road, they had to form up and call the roll, and swear themselves faint, and we moved past in that particularly quiet and offensive Rifle Brigade manner which is ours when we consider ourselves superior to the rest of the British Army. Got back finally at one fairly soaked up to the knee. I then took off boots and puttees, put on dry socks, (I always carry six pairs), wrapped my legs in dry sand-bags, ate two hard boiled eggs and some apricot jam, drank a good whisky and water, smoked two cigarettes, and then slumbered. I slept so successfully that I was not awakened by quite a bombardment around us. Fortunately the sun has eventuated this morning, and I've dried puttees partially. In the army we dry boots by burning paper inside them. It seems to work all right.

[Greyhound]

.... my roof dripped. I got out all my match-boxes and tobacco-lids and cups and so on, and placed a fairly clever field, but soon I found I wanted three slips, an extra cover and a short leg.

Priceless! And as for "moistitude" ...

[marina]

It was the humourless Lancashire man and the mixed bathing that got me - swimming past each other in the trench indeed!

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

One has very funny conversations in the dark with unknown men. One's platoon gets blocked by some other party perhaps, and while we disentangle ourselves one chats to some genial subaltern. One picks up some quite amusing bits of gossip and perhaps hears a good story and then passes into the night. There is 'a certain livliness' this morning. They tell me our artillery knocked spots out of the German trench opposite us two days ago, so much so that a lot of Huns (Saxons probably) got up and legged it back to their supports, what time our lads browned them. Perhaps true, perhaps not. Our artillery is good, I think, and now that it is getting munitions makes a fearful nuisance of itself ( to us among others).

This letter is becoming so immense that I shall shortly have to ring down the curtain, or it will never pass the censor. I fear we are in for a complete day of 'Hate.' The gunners are in immense form, but somehow I don't mind it to-day. I expect it's the fact that we're going out to-night that makes the difference. Also if you've been in a dug-out for five days and they haven't dropped a high explosive on you, you hope they won't be rude enough to do it on the sixth. Deuce of a lot of aeroplanes up this morning. They haven't been able to do much last thirty-six hours owing to wind and rain, so they're making up for it to-day, I suppose. But it means we have to remain hidden all the time, and our sentries are such fools that if the plane goes into a cloud thay always signal 'all clear,' and out swarm the men and have to be chased back again

[stiletto_33853]

The men really are appalling fools. They take it as a fearful affront if you stop their building enormous furnaces to cook on. They don't seem to realize that if spotted by a plane we should be shelled to blazes. The only thing to do is to put man after man under arrest. When we have our first Orderly Room after our return, I shall spend about an hour stepping smartly forward, saluting, and saying 'Sir, on the night of the twenty-third instant the accused, etc. _____,' you know the jargon. Incidentally I've got a corporal I want broken. When we went out at nine-thirty last night our party was one short. It's very difficult to trace a missing man on a dirty night, when you have to move punctually. I think I've got the brute though.

I don't like Orderly Room at the best of times as the Commanding Officer has a way of proving that the thing is much more your fault than the prisoner's ! I'll end this letter. Only about nine hours to go before relief. Bless all Selwyn and salute the staff. Cheer Ho.

[stiletto_33853]

July 22nd, 1915.

I got a letter from you to-day and was very cheered to get a certain amount of gossip. The general opinion is that the war will be over by Christmas, but no one can say why. At the moment of writing Warsaw is tottering, and if it falls I suppose we shall have an odd million or two flung at us hereabouts. Anyway there is such a crush on this salient that we shall all fall over each other. If there is a real big scrap there will be the most fearful mess on record. The whole place id full, full, full of guns and men, and both sides will spend a day or two passing through "curtains of fire." However let me dismiss that for a day or two more. The chief news from my own point of view is that my particular bit of trench is being mined. We suspected it a fortnight ago. I reported and had up mine experts and even offered to make a bomb attack ! However things hung fire and I understand the mine has gone too far to be stopped. So I'm expecting a good 'tour' next time. Nasty things these mines. I saw one go up the other evening. It is pouring with rain at the present moment and I shall most certainly be orderly officer to-morrow. Result - things very moderate. I have been building a redoubt these last two days. The subaltern in charge - a sapper fellow, had lived for five years in Auckland and we had a splendid chat. It was great sitting on a parapet next a great 9.2. howitzer, talking about Takapuna and the 'Masonic' and so on.

[stiletto_33853]

Yesterday was a typical rest-day. Having been out for two days running, digging a redoubt, we were promised a rest. I was also orderly officer. The adjutant came charging round to my bivouac to know why A company lines were dirty. I was at the moment inspecting D lines and had not reached A company, so mutual recriminations followed. I then proceeded to mount the guard. When I had finished the worst parts the commanding officer turned up and began to look on in his most crushing manner. When I told the guard to move to their post, the commanding officer recalled them three times. Each time I tried to find some new fault in what they had done. Finally the brigade sergeant-major, suggested that I had better ask the commanding officer's permission to move off the men. I did so and it was graciously granted. The sequel was a biting note to all officers (we get these three times a day) explaining that they had better learn squad drill, and they might also learn that it is not etiquette to move off troops without the commanding officer's leave, if he is present.

[stiletto_33853]

Personally as I have been moving parties numbering from ten to a hundred about under shell fire for some weeks, the etiquette of moving three men across a road, leaves me a little cold. Well at three thirty (this being a rest camp) I departed on a horse with ten men and a government service waggon, to a place where we loaded five thousand sand-bags. We then departed to Ypres and laid them out neatly packed in bunches of twenty-five. We then sat down and expected a hundred men at seven-thirty. I need hardly say they arrived at nine-thirty. By that time I was asleep in the middle of a square on six sand-bags. On arrival we loaded up and strolled to our working place. Some sappers met us and told me we were making a "high command." I thanked them for that information and asked how they did it. Our men, who have an uncanny way of doing the right thing, seemed to know by instinct and we got great work done on the said "high command," which is a sort of trench that goes up instead of down. Very dangerous I should say. Owing to the strange providence that watches over us, shells had been all over the place before we arrived. But none came over while we were there. At one o'clock we began to snaek home. A fussy major of the 60th, who was in charge of the whole party of four hundred men, got the horrors that we should be slain by our own guns. I tried to persuade him that it didn't matter whether we were or not - that being my state of mind always at two a.m. - and he rushed about and worried us a lot. At length, we struck some motor-buses and after putting various drivers and people under arrest, we returned home and sank into bed at 4.15 a.m. No doubt we shall be turned out for another job to-night. As a matter of fact, I rather enjoy these stunts, especially when I am given a few men off on my lonesome. I will write before we entrench again.

[marina]

A fussy major of the 60th, who was in charge of the whole party of four hundred men, got the horrors that we should be slain by our own guns. I tried to persuade him that it didn't matter whether we were or not - that being my state of mind always at two a.m. -

LOL I can sympathise with that.

Didn't much like the sound of that mine under their trench. That must have been nerve wracking!

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

Considerably later,

Day unknown.

After messing about for sometime we get out of our trenches and dashed about under a very heavy shell fire, and finally settled down, packed like sardines, under a railway embankment. We had two of our guns - enormous great beasts - just behind us, and of course the Germans were dropping shells all round us. The first thing I knew was that a shell had exploded in the midst of my platoon and had more or less removed the head of one of my men. We had to lie quiet under this for three hours. My platoon was lucky and lost no more men. The stretcher bearer and doctor were hard at it all the time. Then things became hotter and hotter. The Germans began a fierce counter-attack, with terrific artillery fire. At about seven o'clock we got the genial news, "The _____'s will advance." So up we get. The men were splendid. I don't think a man in our battalion flinched or wasn't cheerful. Well, off we whipped down this railway line, and over it where we were all spotted by the Germans, and hit a field where we had orders to dig in. The Germans got our range in exactly two and a half minutes and we got shrapnel and all manner of nastiness. A sapper-fellow, - a major I fancy, -loafed up to me and asked if they could help us dig in and I graciously gave permission. So we dug in. During this genial performance the ___'s were legging it back to some tune. Well - while at this job, to a continual shout of "Stretcher Bearers" -we suddenly got orders to retire. We did so in excellent order and collected our kits which we had stacked under the ramparts of _______.

[stiletto_33853]

Quo facto we were off to some other gay spot but to our joy someone else had mopped up all the available trenches and we turned back to a shelter camp. Some other parts of our division had a much worse time. The _______ who were in barracks with us at Aldershot were in the thick of it, and came through with flying colours. We only saqw the severe rear-end, and that was quite cheery going for peace-living citizens. However we saw a few German prisoners which cheered us up. I hear the Canadians did excellently again. Rumour says the Dardenelles are forced. I wonder if it is true. If so, good for the New Zealand, Australia and the British Navy. Well, given fine weather I may still be alive when you get this. I was tired last night, I hav'nt shaved for three days. All our kit is somewhere to blazes, but I got a wash this morning. If I get through this racket, I'll never move out of a slow walk again and shall probably develop into a hopeless slacker ? I wonder ! We are very bucked about the men though,, they stood it all easy. I was pleased to note that I didn't feel the terror-striken rabbit I expected to. I'm not very clean and I've got a grisly beard, but I am quite cheery !

[stiletto_33853]

Trenches,

July 27th, 2 p.m.

Here we go again. We left camp yesterday at four, marched to near Wipers, had a meal, and off we got at eight. We were cheered by the news that by information received from agents, spies and others, a German attack was due to eventuate that night; we were to relieve if we could. If we ran suddenly into our old friend the 'Tir de Barage' or curtain of fire we had to do various and diverse things, as seemed fit to us. We therefore departed in a fairly military state of mind, trusting that we should behave in a fitting manner. About half way up an attack began to our right, the old familiar rapid fire, machine gun and guns. One had time to speculate, as one wallowed along, on whether it would develop into a general attack or whether it was local. It proved to be local, I know not with what result.

We then effected a beautiful relief, I took over from a sergeant with a shrapnelled nose and was all in and posted by eleven-thirty, a good performance. I am now wabsolutely in the fore-front of the battle. Our company is honoured by being right up against them twice running, the same two being in support again and the same two in the front trench. I found that the trench had not been wired and the grass is very long in front. I have indented for wire and sickles and shall take out an agriculturist rifleman and get to work, if possible to-night.

Unfortunately there is a full moon to-night. The chief fly in the ointment is the fact that we are undoubtedly being mined. We are also counter-mining, but there is always the chance of a sudden leap to glory. However, personally, I believe one is right except with an east wind. I'm certain the Germans won't attack in strength unless they have a 'gas' wind and of course blowing up a mine is followed by an attack always. I may be wrong, very likely am, but while the wind is south west it is cheering creed. So far to-day as I noted in the trench log, the situation has been quiet. They fire a lot of rifle grenades at us, and the whizz bangs are very enfilading, but so far we've had nothing serious to growl about. I've got a palatial dug-out, which is good.

Am glad to say I've picked up some very sound men out of our last two drafts, older men than most.

[stiletto_33853]

4.15 p.m.

Life continues its placid course, which probably means we shall have a 'windy night' - that means in civilian parlance that everyone expects immediate attack from all sides. I don't think myself that a quiet day means an attack, as to my mind the batteries would be doing a little bit of ranging and so on, and 'experience teaches' that a quiet night usually results.

We are getting sniped a good deal but without disaster so far. Ours is such an extraordinary position that if you drew a circle round my dug-out and had the correct value for R and pie = and so on, and then divide the circumference up into ten equal parts, you would find that you could be sniped from eight of them. We're quite used to having the enemy on three sides of us by now. It's a wonderful sight at night. One sees flares going up absolutely all round. What I chiefly object to in a salient is the getting in and out.

Of course one's camp has to be some miles from the beginning of the wretched thing: so you have to walk out of the dashed horsehoe and then off again for four or five miles.

One is becomming distinctly more military though. One takes pot shots over the parapet by day quite genially now. This trench is by now well placarded with names. Most bays have a special name 'Whizz Bang Corner,' 'Hell's Gates' or more homely 'The Commercial Hotel,' 'Holly Bush Tavern' and so on. Then one strolls along and sees helpful notices, such as 'Please keep down here, dangerous.'

Of coure we've renamed Belgium and put the new names on the map. For instance we have 'Clapham Junction' here, another place is Hell Fire Corner and so on. I hope when things end - always provided that I haven't ended before - That I shall be able to bring back a trench map or two. Most interesting things, I tell you.

Cheer Ho ! They have started shelling, I must trip out and see that all is well.

[stiletto_33853]

Wednesday, 1 p.m.

Had a thoroughly strenuous night. We were again wartned to be very much on the qui vive, as there was a chance of an attack. However it didn't eventuate. When it got dark I teed off with about twenty men to dig (as usual !) We had another trench behind out present lines, about one hundred yards behind I suppose it is. It had only just begun in fact the traverses were only spitted out, of course our old pal the moon was very much in evidence and there was a lot of flare firing and suspicion around. However we weren't spotted; got a good few bullets about us, bit those only chance shots, I fancy. Anyway we dug (Butterworth included) for four hours. I slipped off for half an hour in the middle to put out some wire in front, that was also accomplished without disaster, we 'stood to' with our customary zeal from two fifteen to three forty five. I then handed over to my sergeant, had a sneak, turned in and slept like a bird.

Was on duty again at 8. We've got a good deal of work in hand and I've been superintending that of coiurse inter alia and tres diversa. The Commanding Officer rocked in about 10.30. At present minute, our company is very much in his good books. I'll tell you about that later: He said that authorities (Brigade I suppose) didn't seem to know where the trench I was digging last night ran out. So I had to perform my well known crawling act. I had only been through as far as we dug and from there on it was crisp stomach work to avoid the genial sniper. As a matter of fact it came out in the most obvious way possible and I think the Brigade came up with red hats to look at a place: they begin to do so and probably a whizz bang or two comes over and they find they've got very important business elsewhere. That of course is only the mere trench dweller's view. As a matter of fact they do their job jolly well, and after all it isn't necessary that they should be shot at more than necessary, only in our muddy dug-outs we rather jeer at the red hats safe behind with beds and plates and chairs and things.

[marina]

Ours is such an extraordinary position that if you drew a circle round my dug-out and had the correct value for R and pie = and so on, and then divide the circumference up into ten equal parts, you would find that you could be sniped from eight of them.

Good at Maths, isn't he?

I would have the advantage of him in this location - not being good at Maths, I wouldn't have a clue in just how much danger I stood!

Cheer Ho, Hugh!

[stiletto_33853]

We know our sector very well now. By jove, it makes a difference. The result is that we can run it about ten times better than we could at first. I think if the Germans had rushed us when we first came in, they'd have eaten us. It was a wild place to send a new regiment to; only all regiments are new now-a-days. Now the men have got down to the position, their sentry work is excellent and our sniping is quite fair, they work splendidly. We work them very hard, but no digging or wiring party ever goes without an officer, that is the way to get the men along. If one takes out a party of men somewhere they don't know - in the open probably - to dig, they'll go like lambs as long as they've got an officer with them. The curious thing is that in civilian life they've probably cursed us as plutocrats, out here they fairly look to us. The other night some time ago, I had some men and had to get somewhere I'd never been before in ____ as a matter of fact it wasn't difficult and we had ample directions, so before we started I was told to send the men with a sergeant. Said the sergeant to me 'I wish you were coming, sir, I don't know the way' I said 'my dear man, nor do I.' To which he made the astounding reply 'Very likely not, sir, but the men will think you do and they know I don't' ! He got there all right. My own sergeant is different from most of ours. He's a tip top A1 regular, and we work in wondrous harmony: Whenever I forget things - as I often do strangely enough - he always remembers and gets them done without rushing to me for orders. He has an uncanny knack of knowing all the stores, etc., one has in the trench. One has to keep a log and so on and you have to know to a round what ammunition you've got and every other dashed thing.

[stiletto_33853]

Probably at two I get a message to report at 1.30 (usually a message comes after the time at which you have to report) how much S.A.A. and so on I have. I dart up to Sergeant Dyer, who consults his note book and gives me the thing cut and dried correct to the nearest round. We also are probably the two most successful thieves in the trenches. And he has tought me this splendid habit - if wild messages arrive inquiring whether this or that is done and why the deuce isn't it, we always report it is done and do it instanter. In fact we're a thoroughly immoral pair, but I believe we're knocking out a pretty useful platoon.

My instuctions in case of attack are simple, my trench must be held at all costs, and I must say it is a very important position; if they got into it they could bomb up and down to the adjoining trenches. It's difficult to explain, depends on contours and slopes and things a good deal. Anyway them's my orders. Cheer Ho ! I think I'll turn over and have a nap. This is always the quickest part of the day.

[stiletto_33853]

Thursday mid-day.

A much less pleasant time, we had a very strenuous evening to begin with. The general came up in the afternoon - as I before stated I think - forget if I did or not - anyway he observed the bit of triangle where my line runs to, saw we are constructing a base to it. He ordered that the base trench, we call it Charing Cross - should be finished during the night. The result was pure hell. After standing down, the whole company had to be turned on in some way or other leaving only one sentry per bay. We thought it fairly criminal as we couldn't possibly have stopped a rush. I thought that anyway I'd do the best I could and get the rest of the front wired as fast as we could go. So I collected all available wire and also my company wirer - splendid chap, ex sailor and very handy - and we spent about one and a half hours in front. It wasn't a bit nice. We are very near the Germans, there was an absolutely full moon and their snipers were horrid active. One could hardly avoid being spotted from time to time, but they kindly didn't turn a machine gun on. The sport with me had two very close calls, bullets hitting the ground just by him. I had nothing more to talk about than the dear old zepp round one's head. I turned in at four and out at 7.30 - having apparently slept through some very nasty heavy trench mortar stuff they sent at us. I fancy they spotted a machine gun emplacement in our trench, we've now moved the gun. However we had a bad time during my four hours from eight to twelve - a steady bombardment all the time. Whizz bangs at first killing one and wounding two. And then they lengthened out a bit with shrapnel and high explosives. They have now come back to the old trench mortars, which are shaking the earth around me. It's a noisome weapon - throws a fifty pound shell and you can see it coming. I believe the German trench mortar has a range of up to one thousand yards. It and the whizz bangs are easy first for nastiness. On the whole we two companies up in the fire trench have lost a good few men, C company a good many more than us.

Let's hope they'll give us a quiet afternoon.

[marina]

They must have been dead on their feet - it's all dashing and ducking and rushing.

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

His sergeant, the A1 regular (Dyer), Sergeant Ernest Walter Dyer # 632, was killed in action on 9-8-15. Born Taunton, enlisted Pontypridd, Glamorgan and a resident of Taunton, Somerset.

[stiletto_33853]

Friday 1 a.m.

What an hour ! However I 'came off' at twelve and have nothing particular on till two, so having had a neat meal of bread, potted meat and honey, I may as well scribble to keep myself awake.

Well, yeaterday went on being pretty nasty. Shelling was very continuous. Our company was lucky. An officer whi joined us three days ago was knocked out. He's not dead, but bad concussion, I expect he'll get all right. Since dark, it's been pretty quiet. Every now and then they send over one of their infernal trench mortars. They are the most grisly things. They come very very slowly and you can see them, also, they make the noise of three motor buses, and when they hit mother earth, they kick up the most awful explosion and smell in a particularly revolting manner. They really are the limit. Much more cheery news has arrived for us to-day. We were to be going back to those beastly dug-outs we were in before. But now we are going to Ypres ramparts, which are fairly safe and distinctly comfortable - a vast improvement.

We're performing prodigies of valour in the digging line up here. New trenches are springing up in all directions, communications chiefly. Between the writing of 'directions' and 'communictions' in previous line, two trench mortars went off. It isn't right at this hour of the morning (another !) What a life ! However we're all expiating our many and various sins, I hope. Perhaps we're banking up a stock of expiation on the credit side - and we shall need it when we get home I fancy !

Cheer Ho ! Au revoir ! I shall go out to the fire trench and see if the sentries are awake and watching.