Lieut. Hugh Montagu Butterworth (Memorial Book)

[marina]

Hw they kept going is a miracle - and the 'boy' officers - he's not that old himself! Hope he gets his champagne.

Marina

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Villiers - Stuart wrote about an occasion when the 9th Rifle Brigade were despatched some new officers, that they were so young that on an occasion in the trenches when he was giving some instructions to these young officers one of them actually held his hand and treated him as a father.

Andy

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Tuesday, August 24th, 7 a.m.

Well, we had a night of absolute calm, a most unnerving thing. You see we veterans don't regard a day as normal unless there is at least six hour's bombardment. Really I almost prayed for a few whizz-bangs last night. The Germans have all sorts of queer night-stunts, which may mean something or may be merely intended to worry the opposition. For instance the following things may occur. I've known them all happen within forty-eight hours, but never all in one night. They'll suddenly shoot up one or two red flares - but as the liquid fire was ushered in by red flares, that gets one craning over the parapet. Then they will flick up a green one. Then they will fire a flare from away back in their support trench, within their own fire trench. They will blow two blasts on a whistle, or will suddenly sound a bugle. All these things are duly reported to me as I take my steady way round. But the most trying thing happened two nights ago. Suddenly they sent up a shell which burst almost noiselessly and became a great black mass of smoke. It was a perfectly still night and the smoke hung up there for minutes before it was dissolved. Personally, I think it was a wind test for gas. They did it twice that night. The wind is doing it's best for us. There has barely been a breeze for three days, absolute stillness, but at critical times such as dusk and dawn, the west wind usually manages to get up a few puffs. It is now seven a.m. I have been on duty for over twelve hours continuously and I am distinctly tired.

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It is at almost dawn, one feels so dead to the world. If I sit down I go to sleep. Rather an interesting duty of a company commander is the working out the direction of the enemy's fire. You see this in warfare each side knows roughly where the other side's batteries are. The whole country swarms with them. They are well concealed of course, but each side has the other batteries roughly registered. So when a gun opens up on us, I leap off to a big scale map and try to find the direction of fire on it. The map has lots of points numbered on it, and if the gun is annoying us, blowing up parapets and so on, I ring up and say that a whizz bang from direction fifty-seven (say) wants dealing with. Whereupon some battery major behind us puts down his novel, gets out of his armchair in his bombproof dug-out, and gets his battery to work. The next few minutes are usually fraught with consdierable interest and some danger. When our battery opens up, the enemy gun usually puts in some pretty brisk business on us. Perhaps a third party chips in in the game, in the shape of a big Hun gun which fires at our battery. Evetually one imposes it's will on the enemy, and quiet perhaps reigns again. We have got a very enterprising gunner behind who would fire all day if required to do so. I'm going to knock off now as my subaltern (who is incidentally senior to me) has had his ration of sleep and it's my turn to get down. So good morning !

[marina]

Villiers - Stuart wrote about an occasion when the 9th Rifle Brigade were despatched some new officers, that they were so young that on an occasion in the trenches when he was giving some instructions to these young officers one of them actually held his hand and treated him as a father.

Andy

That young? Or that frightened, I wonder. Perhaps merely absent minded! Bet he felt a proper fool after - the young officer, I mean, bless him! He'd be a long time living that one down!

Marina

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Wednesday, 2 p.m.

We were relieved last night. Quite a reasonable and early relief. It's wonderful how one feels as soon as one has got one's men out. During relief one sees one's men out and then one lurks about with the new comers and shows them in and around. Finally one slopes off with one's orderly. Personally I dropped in at Headqaurters of the relieving battalion and had a good drink on their commanding officer - a great ally of mine who used to be our major. I then lit up a good cigarette, disdained communication trenches and rolled down the road. We are now in dug-outs in reserve. We were simply on a perfect wicket as we have two companies here and we can run them as we wish. But we have just had a telephone message from the commanding officer, and he is apparently coming up with Headquarters, which probably means unending trouble. We shall be here for four days I suppose, unless trouble arises. If they do, of course we trail up for a counter attack, previously making our wills ! But we hope for peace, though personally I suspect the Hun at present. I had a good ration of slumber last night and hope to do likewise to-day.

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Saturday.

I fancy they are getting awfully "fed up" in England with the papers and official coomuniques gnerally, and all the jingoism and ultra-optimism of the last twelve months. Personally, I think the man to whom the nation owes a debt of gratitude is Northcliffe, though I don't suppose that is your view out in New Zealand. But it makes one sick to live in this sulphurous spot and read that blatant tosh in the English papers. They don't seem to realize that the English Army has made no advance this summer. We have merely won back part of what we lost in April in the first gas attack. Secondly, they are dead locked in Gallipoli, thirdly, the Russians are "strategically" retreating like rabbits ! But the old old cry is that "the war can only have one ultimate issue." I would take all these writers, and experts, and officials, and put them facing Hooge chateau for one calendar week. I should then open intense bombardment, and see what they reckoned about it all. Later I should erect a suitable number of crosses and bid them a tender farewell. The country round here literally swarms with bodies - most of them buried now. One buries them as best one can, and I expect it does not matter whether they have a burial service or not. My own men I try to bury with some little form, but there isn't time for much. I've seen some grisly sights. I was porsopecting for a trench the other day, and I suddenly saw an arm and hand sticking out of the earth. Lots of other sights also, that three months ago would have finished me off.

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I had nearly forgotten some rather "swanky" news. The two first D.C.M.'s given to Kitcheners Army, are both men in my company !!! That is rather a performance, and perhaps shows more than anything that we have passed through thunder and fire. These men on about ten occasions brought back wounded under very heavy fire - the sort of V.C. work in an ordinary war. But this is not an ordinary war. You can be certain that any man who has been at this long, has had to do a good many things of which he is secretly rather proud. And the nerve strain ! In one's trench one must be ready for gas and now liquid fire, one is probably being mined, the night is one long period of suspense. One has to hide from aeroplanes, one has to suspect everyone one does not know as a potential spy. Perhaps as you study English papers, you imagine us in the trenches with a continual smile on our faces. I assure you that ios not always the case. I have seen fear in the faces of almost all a company and I have felt my own inside go wrong and heard the voice of the Tempter saying "Now Butterworth, old son, that's the spot for you; if you're rushed you will be near the exit door and be able to fall back." At those times, the only thing to do, is to take oneself by the neck and get right into the heart of things, swarm about and cheer up the men, and generall restore your own confidence in yourself. I know exactly what fear feels like at two a.m. in the morning. I had to knock off writing here I forget why. I was out all last night working. I am to-day officer commanding "Detachment," two companies, as the other company commander has left on leave. Lucky Fellow ! I am rather busy, I must stop. I hope we get relieved to-night.

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Hugh's rather "Swanky" news is not strictly true in that the 2 D.C.M.'s were the first to be awarded to Kitchener's Army.

Rifleman F. Hamilton of the 8th Rifle Brigade won the D.C.M. for his actions in the liquid fire attack on the 30/7/15 and Lieutenant Sidney Woodroffe won the 1st Kitcheners Army V.C. for the 30/7/15.

The two D.C.M.'s awarded to A/Corporal T. Brown and Sergeant F. Bunstead of the 9th R.B. were for actions from 31st July to 2nd August 1915, although all three D.C.M.'s were gazetted on the same date.

Andy

[marina]

I know exactly what fear feels like at two a.m. in the morning. I had to knock off writing here I forget why. I was out all last night working.

Either General Grant or Sherman spoke of 'two o'clock in the morning courage'.

Marina

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Acting Corporal T. Brown, # B/1858, 9th Battalion, Rifle Brigade. (L.G. 15th Sept. 1915)

For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty near Hooge, during operations from 31st July to 2nd August, 1915. He carried out his duty as stretcher bearer under heavy shell fire with the utmost bravery. On several occasions his coolness and gallantry have been noticed.

Serjeant F. Bunstead, # B/2079, 9th Battalion, Rifle Brigade.

Exactly the same citation as above.

Andy

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September 1st.

There is no news, but you may like to know that I'm still alive. We had a very quiet time in the trenches this tour, the first quiet we have ever had. And we are now resting. All sorts of rumours are afloat. The prevalent idea seems to be that there will be a terrific "go" before the winter. All I hope is that I get my leave first. If not one's chances of ever getting leave again will be only moderate. Our division will no doubt be in it up to the neck. Our battalion is more or less impossible or present. We have six officers doing duty here at present; every other battalion seems to get new officers and we don't get one. It's getting rough on us relics. I ought to get my captaincy next week. No promotions have got through yet, chiefly because our adjutant fills in the wrong form, and of course if applications go in on pink paper instead of green, all the machinery is jammed at once. I think that also accounts for the dearth of officers. The general result is that the commanding officer is in a thoroughly bad temper and we all get well cursed - I seem to dodge a good deal of the cursing. Why, I don't know, as I usually stroll about in my ordinary manner and alter times for parades ( contrary to standing orders, paragraph 54c, a22, etc !!) and do the most unutterable things. However when the commanding officer approaches and wants to know why, etc., I seem to mollify him by standing strictly to attention and saying, "Yes, Sir" and "No, Sir," like a good little boy. It's a quaint life.

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September 2nd, 3 a.m.

A sudden change in life. We are all out on a spy-hunt. A great go ! I am in command of a "Road Section" with various posts and patrols under me, and I am at present at my headquarters in an Estaminet or Public House. I have commandeered most of the bar and am at the receipt of custom, with my interpreter, waiting for spies to be brought up in large quantities. Ishall probably stay here for about thirty-six hours, smoke a bit, consume a certain amount of execrable "vin rouge" and finally return home. However it is a variety, and one can do worse things in rainy weather than sit in a bar and read ! My interpreter is a singularly useful person seeing that he talks no Flemish and the people here talk little else. Now-a-days one thinks nothing of turning in fully dressed for an hour or so, and then rising at two and boning off somewhere. But the men are the slowest things imaginable in the early morning. They were all late this morning and in the murky gloom I used some terrific language. Another man got leave to-day in our battalion. I think if I can survive the next trench stunt, I ought to hit London. Imagine me dropping in on London after four months of this - with a good balance at Cox's. It will make up for a good deal of whizz-banging and trench mortaring won't it ? It will be the rottenest luck to get the neck shot in the eleventh hour.

[stiletto_33853]

September 2nd, 1915.

I still remain seated in this Public House, terribly bored. I arrested a soi-distant Belgian soldier some time since, but I have not heard what became of him. Picture me therefore in the bar tete-a-tete with an aged and homely landlady, who is knitting stockings. She talks Flemiosh and French un petit peu. I talk English (more or less) and French un tres petit peu. Our conversation is therefore amusing to the gods but not enlightening to each other. At the present moment she has just taken off her stockings and is trying on the ones she has knitted. I know not whether to be shy or not. She isn't. I can't make out about my photograph, most of them seem to have arrived. I expect yours will fetch up or has fetched up by now. I don't think you will like it particularly. I look too much the sort of advertisement for the British Army. Now I feel that I look more like a warrior with Government Service breeches, Government Service boots, Government Service great coat, trench-worn puttees, tunic with pockets all gouged about by worming along narrow trenches, cap in almost dilapidated condition; and generally the complete soldier ! How I should love to get into an old Norfolk coat, a pair of flannel bags, and a pair of old brogues and seize a brassy and have a dunch, or better still don the flannels and take that one off middle stump for four. I wonder if I shall ever play cricket again. Solemn thought ! A pal of mine came along just now and put his head in at the window and said that he leaves for England by the one-thirty to-morrow. I threw all I had at him. I wish this army life did not bore me so desperately.

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All the routine out of the trenches simply tires me to death. The trenches would be rather fun if there was not such a good chance of being killed. But I don't think I could stick the army afterwards. I haven't any ideas about the future. But that's not worth worrying about. There is a sort of feeling about again that the war is going to end in the winter. Personally I can't see it. Russia is right in the mud. Gallipoli does not progress. We can't get on here. One wonders what Germany's next move will be. I hope they won't fling Hindenburg, Mackenson, etc., at us. I am rather inclined to think they won't. They seem to have their eyes more on the East. Anyway this will be a nasty enough spot in the winter without jolly old Hindenburg. I imagine the Hun hates it just as much as we do, and wants to get back to his frau and his lager. The Hun is occasionally a sport. We lost an aviator-man in the Hooge straafe and the Hun airmen flying over us a day or two after, dropped a note to say that they had buried this man behind the Hooge chateau "with all honours due to a brave man." In fact, if these Prussians were mopped up, they would be a decent crowd. There is not much quarter given now-a-days. At the end of the Hooge contest we rushed a redoubt (called now the Rifle Brigade redoubt). The Huns had all crawled into dug-outs and the festive Tommy rushed along, lit the fuse of a bomb and then flung the thing into the dug-out, shouting _ "Souvenir, Fritz." This went on till they were tired more or less. It is rather nasty but really these brutes had been liquid firing, and so on, and deserved all they got. But imagine a bomb being hurled into and exploding in a crowded dug-out.

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It is very quaint how regiments differ. I went up digging the other night and heard a great straafe going on on the right. I met a subaltern loafing about and asked him the cause of the frightfulness. Apparently some Jocks (Gordons, I fancy) had just taken over and were signifying their disapproval of the Huns by flinging grenades at a terrific speed. In the same way the Canadians when they take over, always open with fifteen rounds rapid. Of course their reputation is such that if the Huns know the Canadians are opposite, they sit pretty doggo until said Canadians go out. The Canadians have the best repute as scrapsters here and they won it at the second battle of Ypres, the great gas attack. They were simply magnificent I believe. I forget if I told you the yarn of the Canadian who was asked what his officers were like, and who answered, "That they didn't reckon much about them, but he guessed thay carried them along as mascots." However they are regarded as "Oucka." You will excuse the campaign slang that creeps into my conversation. But words laike straafe, morning hate, frightfulness, have become part of the army vocabulary. An amusing stunt eventuated unpleasantly near me the other evening. I was in support in a dug-out. We brought up an great gun and got to work on one of their observation balloons, known as a Gas-Bag. They got some shrapnel on to it, and it went down very quick, and then they flicked over all they had got at where they reckoned it would land. So far, so good - In a short time the Huns began to search for that gun, and my word, they did search, with every conceivable thing. By some chance the gun was not hit, and they got it out safel at night. But they put some poisonous big stuff on to it.

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I am a man of peace and I object to seventeen inchers landing in the next field. They are nasty people. They come very, very slowly, sort of slip along, then crash, boom, and there is a hole in the ground. It is on these occasions that I wish I had the wings of a dove. I told you perhaps that I had no company casualties last tour. Well, when we got to the supports we had three of the best. 1. A new draft man shot himself cleaning his rifle, (for which he gets a court martial) 2. One of my best corporals was hit by a stray bullet, over fifteen hundred yards from the firing line ! 3. An excellent sergeant was flung from a waggon and properly messed up.

By the way, the first two D.C.M.'s given to Kitchener's Army came to my company, did I tell you ? One of them is still in hospital but the ither is magnificent. The salute he throws me makes me feel like a Field Marshall. They have not been presented yet, and I suppose a red hat will drop round, and I shall stand properly at ease and do all the jolly old stunts. When red hats see me at the head of a company with one star and a delapidated hat I find they regard me with a lot of suspicion ! Best wishes to all of you. I am thinking and dreanming of London, I shall be livid if I am hit before leave arrives.

[ianw]

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.

Pity he never got his wish.

This is a fascinating thread for me as my Great Uncle also served in the 9th Rifle Brigade before being killed in Ypres in January 1916.

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Ian,

Glad that you are enjoying this thread on Hugh.

Andy

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September 6th, 1915,

8.30 p.m.

Just a line writ by the candle-light of my tent. We have had a good instance of brigade chop and changing to-day. We had fixed to go up to-morrow night. We company commanders were to go up to-day to arrange relief. This morning this was all washed out. We wer not to go up for an indefinite time, but we are to be kept back and dig, much joy ! To-night at about six-thirty, they suddenly send round an orderly to say that we go in. So now we have got to dart of to-morrow early to make arrangements. I have not one single officer under me and it is a business to run a trench like mine single-handed. However I suppose I shall carry on, but it does not fall to the lot of many men of less than six months army experience to take into a very tricky trench, a company of one hundred and seventy men, eighty of whom have never seen a trench before. We are being abominably treated in the way of officers, but I suppose they can't help it. Of course the thing will be ludicrous if two or three of us are scuppered.

[ianw]

Gosh this man really merited being made up to Captain, but no doubt his 6 months service acted against him no matter that he was good enough. That said if you lead a company well, you are a captain.

Stop Press - Pleased to see that he is recorded on the CWGC as Captain so must have been gazetted from a date before his death?

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It is a wonderful thing, but these men are no good without officers, and they know it. I gave my sergeants a good telling off this morning to keep them up to the knocker. They are good sergeants but will skimp work if they can. I have got a proper new sergeant - a Regular - and he is going right up to the top if I get a chance. I am gradually civilizing my sergeant-major, but what a quaint life for Butterworth !

The relieving feature of it all is the extraordinary good terms all we "relics" are on. We are a "bonhomous" crowd. A quaint medley, three boys of nineteen, two Australians, three youngsters of twenty-three or twenty-four and me !! I am the hoary-headed old sport. One of the stock jokes at my expense is to ask one if they played cricket in top hats in my time. But I assure you I get my own back in the way of subtle jokes. However they are delightful children and we have been through such times together that we know each other pretty well. Also we can trust each other's nerves pretty well. The three youngsters are, I believe, the coolest of the lot. The commanding officer seems to trust us all implicitly. We get it in the neck now and then of course, but he gives us carte blanche in the trenches. His organisation is very good indeed. His fault in the trenches is that he worries too much about us. Now he is in terror that one or more of us will be knocked out. He is a curious character.

[marina]

Easy to forget how young they all are. Wish I didn't know the end - he keeps talking about getting home but I;m not sure even he thinks he'll get there.

Marina

[ianw]

Marina - I am sure he was fully aware of how hideously dangerous their lives were - but while there's life etc

You do get a good impressionn of the comradeship they experienced. I do envy them that.

I am intrigued he mentions a new regular Sgt. My Great Uncle was an old regular who returned from Canada to serve as Sgt in the 9th RB. What a pity he gives no name.

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Ian,

Your relative in the Nominal Roll.