At the end of that restless night, I was so fast asleep that my men had to wake me when the fire intensified to – in their eyes -an alarming degree. They reported that men were drifting back from the front line all the time, saying the line had been given up and the enemy was advancing.
Following the old soldier’s watchword that a good breakfast will hold body and soul together, I took some nourishment, lit a pipe, and then took a look around outside.
My view was somewhat restricted because we were swathed in thick smoke. The shelling grew more imposing by the minute, and soon reached that climactic stage that was so thrilling as to produce an almost amused indifference. The earth showered on to our roof incessantly; twice the building itself was hit. Incendiaries threw up heavy milk-white clouds, out of which fiery streaks dribbled to the ground. A piece of that phosphoric mass smacked down on to a stone at my feet, and I was able to watch it burn for minutes. Later on, we were told that men it had landed on had rolled around on the ground, without being able to quench the flames. Delay shells drilled themselves into the ground with a roar, throwing up flat casts of earth. Swathes of gas and fog crept slowly across the terrain. Rifle and machine-gun fire rang out from just ahead of us, a sign that the enemy must already be very near.
Down on the bed of the Steenbach, a group of men were wading through the constantly changing scenery of leaping geysers of mud. I saw among them the battalion commander, Captain von Brixen, with a bandaged arm, being supported by two ambulancemen, and I hurried down to him. He called to warn me that the enemy were pressing forward, and I should see that I found cover quickly.
Before long the first infantry bullets were smacking into the surrounding craters or bursting against masonry debris. More and more fleeing figures were disappearing into the haze behind us, while furious rifle fire spoke for the implacable defence of those holding on further forward.
The hour was at hand. We had to defend the Rattenburg, and I told the men, some of whom looked troubled, that we were not about to run away. They were allotted various loopholes, and our one and only machine-gun was set up in a window-opening. A crater was designated as a dressing-station, and a stretcher-bearer, who before long found himself with plenty of work on his hands, sat in it. I picked up a rifle off the floor, and hung a belt of cartridges round my neck.
As our band was very small, I tried to bolster it from the numbers of those who were drifting around leaderless. Most of them heard our appeal willingly enough, glad of the chance to join in somewhere, while others hurried on their way, having stopped in disbelief and seen what poor prospects we offered. It was no time for niceties. I ordered my men to aim at them.
Magnetically drawn by the barrels of the rifles, they slowly came nearer, even though one could see from their expressions that they were really most reluctant to keep us company. There were various excuses, prevarications, more or less compelling arguments.
‘But I don’t even have a gun!’
‘Then wait till someone gets shot, and use his!’
In the course of one last, massive intensification of the shelling, during which the ruins of the house were struck several times, and the pieces of brick came hurtling down on to our helmets, I was thrown to the ground by a fearful blow. To the amazement of the men, I picked myself up, unhurt.
After that titanic final drumroll, things got quieter. The shelling now passed over our heads, on to the Langemarck-Bixschoote road. We weren’t even that happy to see it. So far we hadn’t seen the wood for the trees; danger had come down at us on such a massive scale and in so many guises that we couldn’t really begin to cope with it. After the storm had passed over our heads, everyone had time to prepare themselves for what inevitably must come.
And come it did. The guns ahead of us fell silent. The defenders had been finished off. Out of the haze, a dense line of men began to approach. My men shot, concealed behind the ruins, the machine-gun was clicking away. As though smeared away, the attackers disappeared into the craters, and tied us down by their return of fire. On either flank, strong detachments began to march forward. Before long, we were surrounded by rifles.
The situation was hopeless; there was no point in merely sacrificing the soldiers. I gave the order for withdrawal. Now it was difficult to get the committed and tenacious soldiers to stop.
Taking advantage of a long cloud of smoke that hung down near the water, we made good our escape, partly wading through streams whose water went up to our hips. Although the noose around us was all but drawn tight, we still squirmed our way out. I was the last man out of our little strongpoint, supporting Lieutenant Hohlemann, who was bleeding badly from a wound to the head, but was still making jokes at his own expense.
As we crossed the road, we ran into the 2nd Company. Kius had heard of our situation, from wounded men going back, and had come, not at his own prompting, but in response to the urging of his men, to get us out.
It was a spontaneous initiative. We were moved, and it created in us a kind of happy euphoria, the sort of mood in which you want to pull up trees by the roots.
After a short discussion, we decided to stop and allow the enemy to catch us up. Here, too, there were artillerymen present, signallers, telephonists, and various stray bits and bobs, who could only be persuaded by force that, given the particular circumstances, they too were required to lie down with a rifle in the front line. By means of cajoling, ordering and rifle butts, we established a new defensive line.
Then we sat down in a trench that was more imagination than reality, and breakfasted. Kius pulled out his inevitable camera and took pictures. On our left there was a sudden commotion, coming from the outskirts of Langemarck. Our men fired at various figures who were running around, until I called a halt. Unhappily, an NCO came up and reported that a company of Fusilier Guards had dug in by the road, and had suffered casualties from our fire.
Thereupon I ordered us to advance, through dense rifle fire, to join them. We lost a few men, and Lieutenant Bartmer of the 2nd Company was gravely wounded. Kius stayed at my side, munching what was left of his bread and butter as he advanced. When we had occupied the road from where the terrain fell away down into the Steenbach, we saw that the British had purposed exactly the same thing. The nearest khaki-clad figures were only twenty yards away. The field was full of lines of men and marching columns, as far as the eye could see. Even the Rattenburg was already being swarmed all over.
They were completely unconcerned, so engrossed were they in what they were doing. One man had a roll of wire on his back, which he was slowly unspooling. Obviously they had seen hardly any fire, and were just cheerfully advancing. Even though they were in vastly superior numbers, we thought we would put a spoke in their wheel. There was a good deal of shooting, but aimed shooting. I saw a stout corporal from the 8th Company calmly rest his rifle on a splintered tree trunk; with every shot an attacker fell. The enemy were bewildered, and started hopping about this way and that, like rabbits, while clouds of dust were whirled up between them. Some were hit, the rest crept into shell-craters, to lie low until it got dark. The wheels had come off their advance; they had paid for it dearly.
At around eleven o’clock, rosette-decorated aircraft circled down towards us, and were driven away by fierce fire. In the middle of that crazy banging away, I had to laugh at one soldier who came up to me and wanted me to confirm that it was he with his rifle who had brought down one plane in flames.