Soissons: Where the Yanks Learned About the Lethality of German Machine Guns

German Machine Gunners

The Battle of Soissons was part of a series of operations in July and August 1918, collectively known as the Second Battle of the Marne. After French intelligence had warned him of the German attack east of Château-Thierry that would begin on 15 July, Generalissimo Foch set the date for his counterattack as the 18th. Consequently, as the Germans were attacking on the eastern flank of the salient, the Allies would be attacking against their exposed western flank. The two most experienced divisions of the AEF, the 1st and 2nd, played the key roles in the attack. Marines of the 2nd Division were in the opening advance.

[On the 18th] we moved forward at a slow pace, keeping perfect lines. Men were being mowed down like wheat. A whiz bang hit on my right and an automatic team that was there a moment ago disappeared. . . 

 Lt. Samuel Cumming, 5th Marines

Soissons would subsequently become the battlefield where the AEF learned of the skills of experienced machine gunners in hindering attacks over open country. This made advancing difficult on the first day of the attack, and would prove almost insurmountable for the inexperienced Marines and Doughboys on subsequent days at Soissons when the Germans had better organized their defenses.

Of all the American units that fought at Soissons, the 6th Marine Regiment of the 2nd Division may have faced the most determined opposition. With the 6th Marine Machine Gun Battalion and the 2nd Engineer Regiment in reserve, they joined the battle on the second day after the German army had reinforced the sector to avoid a rout. Furthermore, they were ordered to attack over the entire 2nd Division frontage. The division's other three infantry regiments were depleted and exhausted from the first day's advance. The 6th Marines would face relatively fresh infantry using machines for both direct and indirect fire, and artillery guided by observation balloons, which the Americans lacked since the Germans held air superiority over the sector. Marine historian Edwin Simmons estimated the 6th regiment suffered over 1,200 casualties, mostly on the single day of 19 July 1918.

 On the 19th, the second day of the attack, it was not until 6:30 a.m. that the leading battalion of the regiment received orders to lead the attack that day. The Germans were still desperately attempting to stop the Allies' drive. The 6th Marines, under Lt. Col. Harry Lee, advanced on a 2500-yard front. The 1st Battalion, commanded by Major John A. Hughes was on the left flank. The 2nd Battalion, commanded by future USMC Commandant Major Thomas Holcomb, was on Hughes's right, and the 3rd Battalion, commanded by Major Berton W. Sibley, was in reserve. The ground was level and contained no cover except for an occasional wheat field. This attack started in full view of the enemy and with insufficient artillery support.

The ground was absolutely flat, some planted in wheat, with bare fields here and there. Artillery and machine gun fire caused heavy losses. After advancing about a mile the right was stopped in front of Tigny and the left at La Râperie, the head of the Villemontoire Ravine. The center continued on a little farther to the Bois de Tigny. A gap opened between the 1st and 2nd Battalions, which was filled by the 3rd. This line was held the rest of the day. Farther advance was impossible without fresh troops, and there were no more to send in. 

Division Marker at the Farthest Advance of the 6th Marines
(Note flat terrain)

Two Sergeants of the 6th Marines Later Described That Day:

 We moved down into the Vierzy Ravine, and then went forward, past Vierzy. My battalion came up out of the Vierzy Ravine and deployed on the edge of a wheat field. The Germans, who were over on the right on a hill, spotted us, They were about 1,800 yards away, but they started throwing machine gun bullets at us. . . . I could see Holcomb's battalion come out of the orchard way off to our left and deploy and move out. . . . We lay there, and after a while we heard rumbling. It was the tanks. . . . When the tanks passed through, the command came, "Forward." We got up and started going with them. On our battalion front there was a tank every 50 yards. They attracted furious German artillery and machine gun fire. In a matter of minutes all tanks save one in our battalion zone were disabled and on fire. The advancing Marines were a machine gunner's dream. Flesh and blood can take just so much. Under the veritable hail of shells and bullets, platoons simply melted. The Germans had massed their artillery on a hill about three or four miles off in front of us. It was all direct fire. . . . Our attack collapsed. The attack was over.

Gunnery Sergeant Gerald C. Thomas, 1st Battalion

The German machine gun fire did not cease during the day so we dug as deep as possible. It was sure death to stick one's head up. . .It must have been past midnight when a French out fit came up to relieve us. I spoke to a French [officer] and he told me that they had come up to the front on condition that they would only occupy the second line and not the first line. It told him in French, of course, that our line was the second line. As it was pitch dark he believed me and what was left of us vamoosed out of there and went to the rear. 

 Sgt. Victor D. Spark, 2nd Battalion

  

Men of the 6th Marines

Eyewitness: I Watched the High Seas Fleet Surrender

21 November 1918

By  F. Perrot of The Guardian 

About 9.30 precisely came the great moment–the first glimpse of the captive German fleet. The lookout man at the masthead called down the tube to the captain's bridge: 'German fleet in sight on the starboard bow.' We were fifty miles out to sea east of the opening of the Firth of Forth. 'Der Tag,' murmured the chief yeoman of signals, as he leveled his telescope on the incredible thing. First of all we saw a kite balloon towed along by the Cardiff, our light cruiser, in the proud job of marshaling the prisoners. Behind the Cardiff we saw a faint silhouette, dark gray against the gray haze, like something cut out of paper. 'Seydlitz,' said an officer. "When I saw her last she was fairly battered. Jutland.' So the five battlecruisers were marching first to prison.

Over the Seydlitz one of our North Sea airships kept watch and ward. The leading German ships showed great plumes of smoke. After the Seydlitz came the Moltke, Derfflinger, Hindenburg, and Von der Tann. They were about three miles from us.

'What a target!' said our captain regretfully, and he made a rapid calculation of how long it would take our thirty-three battleships to sink their nine. The nine now loomed out of the haze, all moving as at some peaceful maneuvers. They were in this order: Friedrich der Grosse, flying the flag of Admiral von Reuter; Kaiser, Konig Albert, Prinzregent Luitpold, Kaiserin, Bayern (the very latest), Grosser Kurfurst, Markgraf, Kronprinz Wilhelm.

The grandest sight was that of the nine battleships towering in the misty light, magnificent and also ignominious. Soon after they were visible the sun burst out fully and made a path of rippling dazzle between us and the Germans. The phlegm of the British sailor was proof even against this miracle. Round me, the officers were calmly identifying the ships from their silhouette-books–'See the Derfflinger's tripod masts,' and so on. Our sailors showed no emotion at all. There was not a cheer in all the British fleet, although everywhere, on every turret and ledge, the men stood thickly, gazing silently or with some casual jest.

One man who said to me, 'This is what we've been waiting for all these years' was an exception. The sailorman thought of peace to come and leave at last. There was chivalry in his heart for a beaten foe. I heard one say: 'It's a fine sight, but I wouldn't be on one of them ships for the world.' An officer said to me: 'We all feel this is an unparalleled humiliation to a great fleet. The High Seas Fleet has fought well, and we have nothing against it. The submarines are another story. We have won the greatest and the most bloodless victories in the history of the world.'

There was a gap of three miles between the battleships and the seven light cruisers. These we could not see at all, nor the fifty German destroyers, all of the latest type, that closed the pageant. . .

Source:  The Lotus magazine, February 1919

A Navy Dentist's Heroism at Bouresches

Lieutenant JG Weeden Edward Osborne, USN

By John Frederick Andrews

Weeden Edward Osborne was born on 13 November 1892 in Chicago, Illinois. Little is known of his family. He and his sister, Elizabeth, were orphaned when their parents died. Weeden was taken in by the Allendale Farm and School for Boys in Lake Villa, Illinois.

Allendale was founded by Edward “Cap” Lounsberry Bradley in 1897 “to protect, rear, educate, elevate, and provide for homeless and neglected boys.” By 1901 there were five cottages, a school, library, gym, print shop, and chapel. The age when Osborne was taken in by Allendale is unknown, though one source stated it was after the turn of the century.

No record appears to exist about Elizabeth’s youth; Allendale Farm only admitted boys at the time. Some years later, Albert M. Johnson, the president of the National Life Insurance Company of the United States, headquartered at 29 LaSalle Street in Chicago, assisted in their education and support. His business address was used as the navy’s contact point with Elizabeth. How Johnson became interested in their situation is not clear. Though Johnson was not listed as being on the Allendale board in 1919, it is possible that his involvement came about through work with the school. A number of prominent Chicagoans on Allendale’s board.

Osborne was accepted into the Northwestern University Dental School and graduated there in 1915. Johnson’s support was probably particularly important during this time, since dental school and the equipment each student had to purchase was expensive. He joined the teaching staff at Denver University, Denver, CO, and underwent his dental examinations at the National Medical School on 23 April 1917. When he joined the U.S. Navy, his health record showed that was 68 inches tall, 150 pounds, light brown hair, fair complexion, gray eyes, with a slight build. He had 20/20 vision with moderate color blindness. Prior heath history included scarlet fever. An article in the Journal of the National Dental Association (referenced below) stated: “Described as being slight in build, nervous temperament, bright, forceful, energetic, and of sympathetic and lovable disposition.”

Lt. Osborne Was Attached to the 2nd Battalion, 
6th Marines for the Attack on Bouresches;
The Unit Is Shown Deployed at Triangle Farm to Start

His Service History from U.S. Navy Records—

6/5/1917: Enrolled with provisional rank Assistant Dental Surgeon LTJG, Class 4, Naval Coast Defense Reserve, cl 4, to serve for a period of 4 years from 6/5/17. Accepted and executed oath of office. 

6/6/17: To Boston Navy Yard to serve in active duty on the Naval Reserve Force until acceptance and execution of oath of office in Regular Navy.

6/19/17: Appointed Dental Surgeon in the Navy with rank LTJG for a probationary period of two years from 6/8/17.

7/3/17: Detached from Boston Navy Yard to Camp Burrage, Bumpkin Island, Boston for duty.

8/8/17:  Discharged from Naval Reserve Force to accept an appointment to the Regular Navy.

8/17/17: Continued duty at Boston Navy Yard. Appointed regular dental surgeon. (detached 8/19,  reported 8/30/17).

10/4/17: Osborne requested active duty with Marines in the American Expeditionary Force in France. Approved on 10/19/17. In his letter, he said: “Such work would be of great benefit to me, since it would be practical experience in field dental surgery, which, I believe is of immense value to a man in the service. In the event that equipment for overseas duty is lacking, I wish to state that I have practically a full equipment of my own for this service. This duty would be especially congenial to me as I am unmarried and have no dependent relatives.”

12/8/17: Detached to USS Alabama (detached 13 Dec, reported 18 Dec).

3/26/18: Detached to duty with 6th Marines.

5/15/18: Arrived and assigned to duty with 6th Marines.

Bouresches After the Fighting

Osborne got his wish, and at the end of March 1918, he was ordered to join the navy staff responsible for medical care of the 6th Marine Regiment. His orders arranged transit from New York to Liverpool. Available records don’t document his arrival in France, but it must have been a bit before 14 May 1918.

The 2nd Division of the American Expeditionary Forces—the AEF—included two combat infantry brigades. The 3rd Brigade was Regular Army. The 4th Brigade of Marines was composed of the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments. Navy Medical and Dental took care of the marines at the regimental level and below.

The 2nd Division departed from Verdun, where they had their first taste of combat, on 14 May 1918. They arrived in the Chaumont-en-Vexin area, northwest of Paris, about a week later. The 6th Marines medical staff was partially billeted in a chateau in the Isle Adam area by 20 May, so it was probably there that Osborne met his new commander. Osborne’s papers were cosigned by 6th Regimental Surgeon, Lt. Commander Wray Farwell on 28 May. The senior dental surgeon in the regiment was Lieutenant, later Lieutenant Commander Cornelius Mack.

Osborne’s arrival at his new duty station was probably very chaotic, though there is no record of his impressions. The 6th Regiment Navy medical team was still licking its wounds from a mustard gas attack on 4/13/18. The 74th Company of the 6th Marines lost 235 out of 250 men. One corpsman died and another was disabled in the rescue effort. In addition to joining a grieving and shocked command, Osborne would have been confronted with an array of U.S. Army Medical forms to learn on arrival (the Navy used separate forms). To top it off, his dental equipment didn’t arrive with him.

The Main Street of Bouresches Bears the Lieutenant's Name

Like most dentists of the day, Osborne owned his own dental equipment. It is unclear what dental gear the Navy furnished at the time. Osborne’s was delayed in transit, and never did catch up with him during his life. He apparently adapted to the lack of equipment by working alongside the corpsmen.

The 2nd Division was conducting exercises in preparation to back up the AEF 1st Division, which had gone into the attack near Cantigny, France. This was the first offensive action by the AEF—an opportunity to “bloody” the troops, gain open warfare experience and prove to the world that America could fight. A stunning German breakthrough in the Chemin-des-Dames area northwest of Reims changed everything. On 30 May, the 2nd Division was turned over to a desperate French command and transferred to the Chateau-Thierry area with only hours of prior notice.

The movement of the division to their new area of operation was chaotic. The only medical supplies and equipment the 4th Brigade medical staff had was what they could cram in their 24 small Ford ambulances. The French promised to provide all the care beyond the regimental level: the ambulance dressing stations, field, evacuation, and base hospitals. That promise vanished in the confusion. The division was hurtling into the biggest battle in the history of the Marine Corps with no medical support—not a single hospital or operating room. And, in the midst of the pandemonium was Osborne.

A dentist without his equipment is like an infantryman without a rifle, or a surgeon without instruments. Not useless, but not fully capable, either. As the 6th Regiment medical staff set up its aid station at Petit Montgivrault Farm, a short distance from Belleau Wood, it appears that Osborne worked more as a medical corpsman than a dentist. When the 4th Brigade went on the offensive on 6 June 1918, he volunteered to work with the 96th Company. Doctors and dentists didn’t work at the company level—only corpsmen. He didn’t have to do it. He could have stayed at the aid station.

Captain Donald Duncan led the 96th Company, 2nd Battalion, 6th Marines. The French commanders ordered the 2nd Division to attack across a broad front at 1700 hours that day. The company rushed to its step-off position minutes before H-hour. The preparatory barrage ended as Duncan’s men formed their lines and began to advance down a long rolling wheat field toward the town of Bouresches, 800 yards to the northeast. The field was quiet for the first few minutes of the company’s advance. Then the Germans hit them with machine gun fire, followed by artillery. Duncan continued forward, waving his marines on in the attack. Then, Duncan fell—a terrible abdominal wound. Osborne and a corpsman rushed to Duncan’s side. First Sergeant Sissler and Sergeant Sheridan who were with Duncan helped carry their fallen captain to the cover of a copse of trees where an aid station had been set up. An artillery shell hit them as they treated Duncan, killing Osborne, the corpsman, and Sissler. From his citations, it sounds as though Osborne had pulled several wounded marines from the field before Duncan was hit.

Osborne and others were buried near the site where they died. His body was disinterred on 22 October 1922. The examiner found the identification disk (dog tag) for Private John P.S. Thompson of the USMC 134th Co. 2nd Replacement Battalion in Osborne’s breast pocket. The body was identified at Osborne, however. The examiner remarked about evidence of bullet wounds, so it is likely that Osborne was wounded before the artillery shell killed him. Osborne was reburied on 30 October 1922 in the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery (1764) in Grave 39, Row 3, Block A.

Osborne was awarded the Army Distinguished Service Cross in General Order #126. The citation states: “During the advance on Bouresches, France, June 6 1918, he voluntarily risked his life by helping carry the wounded to places of safety and, while engaged in this difficult duty, was struck by a shell and killed.” The original Army DSC medal was sent to a Navy office sometime in 1919, but the package in which it was sent was lost. Elizabeth never received the medal and requested a duplicate in May 1919.

He was awarded two Army Silver Star citations in General Order #40 1918, Second Division, AEF. One citations stated: “For extraordinary heroism in stemming the German advance in this region and in thrusting it back from every position occupied by the Fourth Brigade from June 2nd to 11th inclusive. This northeast of Chateau Thierry (France), June 2-11, 1918.” The other stated: “Risked his life to aid the wounded when the advance upon the enemy of June 6th (1918) was temporarily checked by a hail of machine-gun fire. He helped to carry Captain Donald C. Duncan to a place of safety when that officer was wounded, and had almost reached it when a shell killed both. Having joined the regiment but a few days before its entry into the line and, being new to the service, he displayed a heroism worthy of its best traditions. This on June 6, 1918.”

He was later awarded the Navy Medal of Honor. The citation read: “For extraordinary heroism in actual conflict with the enemy and under fire, during the advance on Bouresches, France, on June, 1918, in helping to carry the wounded to a place of safety. While engaged in this heroic duty, he was killed. He was at the time attached to the Sixth Regiment, U.S. Marines.” The medal was awarded in accordance with the Act of February 4, 1919. The medal and citation were forwarded to Elizabeth on 23 October 1920 at her home in Long Island City, New York. She confirmed receiving the medal in a letter dated 11 November 1920.

At the time, there were two versions of the Navy Medal of Honor. The “Tiffany Cross” was designed by Tiffany & Company. This version was awarded for combat actions, while the original Navy MOH could be awarded for non-combat actions as well. In 1942 the Navy no longer awarded the MOH for non-combat actions and went back to the single, original medal.

Osborne’s other awards included the Italian War Cross and Diploma. It was not uncommon at the time for multiple medals to be awarded for the same action.

Communications between the Navy and Elizabeth were complicated by several things. Osborne had listed Elizabeth as his next of kin, with a mailing address c/o A.M. Johnson, 29 LaSalle Street, Chicago, Illinois. During that time, Elizabeth married Harry Hutchins Fisher, Jr. He served in the Navy, and over the next several years her address changed several times. Her notification of his death was delayed for these reasons.

In 1919, Elizabeth requested his remains be returned to the US for burial. In a letter dated 18 May 1921, she reversed this and requested that he remain buried at the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery, where he remains to this time.

The Torpedo Boat Destroyer Osborne was dedicated and launched at the Bethlehem Shipping Company, Squantum, MA on 29 December 1919. The sponsors were Elizabeth Osborne Fisher, assisted by Mrs. Channing Cox, the wife of the governor of Massachusetts. This was authorized in General Order #518, 1920, Navy Department.

In 1929, Elizabeth requested the right to pilgrimage to his grave, listing herself as his sister and his in loco parentis. The Navy reviewed the application but turned her down, stating that her, claim of being his in loco parentis was not possible, since he was of sound mind and body when he entered and served in the Navy.

Elizabeth apparently died in 1934. The story skips forward to 2002, when the FBI recovered a Tiffany Medal of Honor with his name stamped on the back. The person in possession of the medal at the time attempted to sell it, which is illegal. This occurred in South Carolina. Who had it and how they came into possession of it remains unclear. Some questions have been raised about the mechanical stamping of his name on the back of the medal, where many others were more finely engraved. The medal is now in the Navy Museum. A photo of the medal can be found at: http://www.navy.mil/view_imagex.asp?id=6972&t=1.

The United States Marine Corps established the Lieutenant Junior Grade Weedon E. Osborne Award to recognize a Navy dental officer who made significant contributions in support of operational readiness while serving with the Marines.

The spelling of Osborne’s first name is a curiosity and has been the subject of misspelling since his death. His signature on navy documents show clearly that he spelled his name “Weeden”. This was also the spelling his sister used in her correspondence about him. It is the spelling on his headstone at the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery. However, many other documents misspell his first name “Weedon.” That is shown on the back of the Medal of Honor and the U.S. Marine Corps Lt. J.G. Weedon E Osborne Memorial Award.

References: Photograph from U.S. Navy Bureau of Medicine and Surgery, courtesy of André Sobocinski, who also provided a wealth of other US Navy records used for this biography; Lakevillahistory.org; The Journal of the National Dental Association; Navy Medics with the Marines, 1917-1919: The Medical Department of the United States Navy with the Army and Marine Corps in France in World War I; To the Limit of Endurance: A Battalion of Marines in the Great War

Ring of Fire: A New Global History of the Outbreak of the First World War: 1914

By Alexandra Churchill & Nicolai Eberholst

Pegasus Books, 2005

In their just released book,  Ring of Fire: A New History of the World at War: 1914,  Alexandra Churchill (historian and Great War Group co-founder) and Nicolai Eberholst (archivist) strive to rebalance common conceptions of WWI, drawing on primary source materials in over twenty languages. I have not had time to request a review copy from the publishers, but they have made some sample pages available. Below are three excerpts drawing on sources I've never read before (or heard of).

Separation

But the War Had Been Prepared For!

Immediate Distrust

Order HERE

Event Announcement: The National World War One Museum is hosting the authors for an in-person / online discussion this Saturday, 23 August 2025.  Information for registering for the event can be found HERE.

All About British Ambulance Trains

Ward Car, Ambulance Train #18

I remember the journey as a nightmare. My back was sagging, and I could not raise my knees to relieve the cramp, the bunk above me only a few inches away. 

Robert Graves, passenger

Railways played an essential part in the first truly industrialised war. As well as facilitating the horrors of mass conflict, they also enabled medical care of injured service personnel on a vast scale.

Evacuation of the wounded on this scale would have been unimaginable without the ambulance trains that ferried thousands of soldiers away from the front line toward safety.

During the First World War, huge numbers of injured soldiers had to be transported from the front line to casualty clearing stations, field hospitals, and beyond. The fastest way to do this was by train.

• Ambulance trains are essentially hospitals on wheels—trains converted to accommodate wards for injured soldiers, pharmacy and operating rooms, and medical staff quarters.
• First World War British ambulance trains could carry around 500 injured servicemen, along with 50 crew members including orderlies, nurses, and medical officers.
• 7 July 1916, during the Battle of the Somme, was the busiest day of ambulance train traffic during the war.
• By 1918, British railway companies had built 51 ambulance trains.

Ambulance trains had already been used in the 19th and early 20th centuries, in the Crimean War, American Civil War, and Boer War. But the possibilities of railways were fully exploited during the first truly industrial war. In the early days of the First World War, casualties arriving back in Britain were taken from hospital ships at Southampton to the nearby military hospital at Netley. However, as more and more casualties began to arrive, ambulance trains took passengers to newly opened hospitals across the country. These home ambulance trains carried the injured to hospitals as far-flung as Strathpeffer in the Scottish highlands. 

A 500-Patient Ambulance Train, August 1914

How did Britain’s railway companies prepare for war?

In the years leading up to 1914, the British government was secretly preparing for war. Anticipating the mass casualties of a Europe-wide war, they gathered the managers of Britain’s railways to design ambulance trains. Railway companies had to fit the facilities of a hospital into the confines of a train. Ambulance trains were up to a third of a mile long and included wards, pharmacies, emergency operating rooms, kitchens and staff accommodation. Secret drawings were sent out to companies across the country. When war was finally declared on 4 August 1914, the rail industry was ready.

Carriage builders were immediately recalled from their holidays and worked around the clock to prepare the ambulance trains. Companies worked day and night to build the trains and fittings—from ladders and latrine buckets to operating tables and ash trays. The first train arrived in Southampton just 20 days later. Companies and their workers were immensely proud of their hard work under pressure. The new ambulance trains were exhibited at railway stations across Britain. Thousands flocked to see the trains before they entered service.

Despite careful planning, when war broke out, the conflict put a huge strain on Britain’s railway industry. As well as building the ambulance trains, railway companies supplied stretchers, guns, shells and vehicles. At the same time, thousands of workers were leaving to join the army. Nonetheless, many rail workers were barred from joining up—it was essential work for the war effort. Overstretched and under attack, the French railways struggled to cope with evacuating injured soldiers. In December 1914, British companies were ordered to build continental ambulance trains to be used in France.

As war went on, the government demanded more and more from Britain’s railway companies. By 1918, the railway companies had built 20 ambulance trains for use in Britain and 31 for the continent. The continental trains were carefully designed to carry more passengers over longer distances.

A Crowd Awaits the Arrival of an Ambulance Train,
Liverpool Station, London

Life Aboard an Ambulance Train

For patients, a journey on an ambulance train could be a blessed relief or a nightmare. Patients were initially relieved to be on board and moving away from the front. Many hoped for a ‘Blighty wound’, which would mean a welcome return home.

However, travelling on an ambulance train could be an uncomfortable or even painful experience. The small bunks were claustrophobic, and men with broken bones felt every jolt of the train. Filled with men straight from the trenches, the trains quickly became filthy and smelly.

Kate Luard, Nurse, and Owen Willis, Orderly

The Workers

In 1915 I learned that it is possible to work for twenty-four hours or more at a stretch... and to use my strength in helping others rather than merely in playing games. 

Paul Cadbury, orderly

Each ambulance train could carry 500 passengers and was run by up to 50 staff: 47 orderlies, 3 medical officers, 3 nurses, 3 cooks.  The  orderlies, fetched water, changed dressings, fed the passengers, and cleaned the train. 

Working on an ambulance train was difficult, dirty and dangerous. For every new load of passengers, there was a long list of jobs to be done. Staff regularly worked through the night to make sure their patients were given the care they needed. They ran the constant risk of catching lice or infectious diseases, and of being bombed.

Arrival

The unloading of an ambulance train is always a sad sight... They crawl along, moving very slowly. They are bowed and listless . . . These men left England fine, alert, young soldiers.

The Times (25 January 1915)

The first ambulance trains were greeted with crowds, red carpets, brass bands and local dignitaries. But pomp and pride were quickly replaced by sorrow as battered and broken men were unloaded onto the platforms.

Ambulance trains didn’t just bring the injured home to Britain—they also brought the horror of the conflict home to the public. As the number of terribly wounded men arriving in Britain grew, railway stations became a place for the public to help in any way they could. 

Source: The National Railway Museum, York

The Bulgarian Contract–Did the War Actually End in Macedonia?

History Sleuth and Real Life Detective Graeme Sheppard

By James Patton

Graeme Sheppard is a retired investigator with the London Metropolitan Police who has taken up historical research. In 2021 he produced an engaging account of how a clever piece of misinformation arguably could have precipitated events that ended the First World War. 

His premise is that there was a commonly held belief amongst ordinary Bulgarians that their agreement with Germany was for a three-year war and that ending date came on 10 September 1918. Thus, he argues that this canard caused the collapse of the Bulgarian army, which in turn led to the German High Command recommending that an armistice be sought. 

While researching in the UK National Archives in Kew about an entirely different matter regarding China in the 1930s, Sheppard  came across a 1931 Foreign Office file  archived as Miscellaneous. It contained a memoir of a junior diplomat named D.J. Cowan explaining how he had witnessed something of great significance.

Lieutenants Howe and Cowan

“The story [among Bulgarian folk]” he wrote, “was a very short and simple one. It was this: our contract with the Germans is for three years only [a mistaken belief that was based upon pure propaganda] … [and] that the men at the front definitely did not intend to carry on after the three-year limit had been reached ... from what I saw of the troops of the neighborhood where I was there seemed little doubt of the fact that they had simply left the front with the one object of returning home.”

Cowan went on to describe how this mass Bulgarian desertion in September 1918 coincided with the Allies’ great offensive.  

In fact, there was no such clause, even a  secret one, in Bulgaria’s agreement with the Central Powers. It was likely one of several schemes to undermine the ruling government, hatched by the banned opposition party, the Agrarian Union. Its leader, Alexander Stamboliyski (1879–1923), was imprisoned at the time due to his antiwar posture. 

Alexander Stamboliyski 

Sheppard found much more information in the memoirs and letters of Cowan and Robert Howe, two British second lieutenants whose letters to home and other documents have been carefully preserved by relatives. Although they had starkly dissimilar backgrounds, Howe described the bond between himself and Cowan as closer than brothers. 

Cowan was the only child in his well-to-do family, who lived on Gordon Square in Bloomsbury, an area now occupied by University College London. His father was a civil engineer, and the couple were artistic free-thinkers, who even took young David along on their foreign excursions. In 1914 he was a medical student at St Barts Hospital, near Lincoln’s Inn Fields, about a mile from his home.

Howe was one of five born in Derby to a semi-literate railway worker. The family lived in a cramped terrace house with a privy. Howe’s path out of poverty was through a series of grants from the local council that even enabled him to study mathematics at Cambridge. 

In August 1914, both men left their colleges and volunteered for Lord Kitchener’s New Army.  Cowan was commissioned  in an Irish unit, the 5th (Service) Connaught Rangers and Howe likewise in his local 9th (Service) Notts and Derby (Sherwood Foresters).

After some training, in July 1915 both battalions were sent to Gallipoli, among the first New Army units to go overseas. Once there, both Cowan and Howe were re-assigned to back-fill losses in the 6th Royal Dublin Fusiliers, 30th Brigade, 10th (Irish) Division, which then became the first unit sent to the Macedonian front. 

In the mountains near Kosturino, Howe was defending an exposed ridge overlooking a strategically vital track. Pinned down by machine gun fire, he was shot through the chest and left for dead. After two days, enemy stretcher-bearers found him and loaded him into a bullock cart. At a makeshift field hospital, he was bedded down in a sheep-pen. Remarkably, he survived. Cowan had also been wounded and taken prisoner a day earlier than Howe. 

They were both sent to a new prison camp near ancient Philippopolis (now called Plovdiv). There were no fences there–the Bulgarians couldn’t believe that anyone would want to go back to the fighting. 

Not so with Cowan and Howe. As soon as they were fully recovered, they began to plan their escape. Sneaking out of the camp after dark was easy; hiking more than 100 miles to the Allied lines would not be easy.

On their first escape attempt, they walked south—crossing a mountain range, equipped with only a cheap compass, but were cornered by mastiff dogs only a few miles short of the front. Their boots had been ruined; nevertheless, they were sent barefoot back to Philippopolis.

Their second try saw them head east, following the Maritsa River valley to the Aegean Sea. Cowan believed that he had arranged a rendezvous with the Royal Navy, having sent a cryptic letter outlining the plan to a former colleague now at the Admiralty. Whether this scheme was well laid or not would never be known because, while resting during the day, they were flushed out by armed locals seeking the bounty. 

British Prisoners Putting on a Show at Philippopolis Camp

According to Howe, the prison commandant could never understand why they were escaping. At one point he asked them: “Were you not happy and comfortable here?” The camp conditions were far from posh, but the British officers received by far the best treatment of any there. 

Howe explained that “The Bulgarians don’t seem to realize that they are at war with England.” Moreover, he recalled being warmly welcomed by cries of “Anglichanni!” Ordinary people frequently regarded them as special, often evoking their memory of “the good Gladstone”, [William Gladstone (1809–1898)] a figure  widely admired for his outspoken support of Bulgarian independence from the Ottomans.

Even if the commandant couldn’t understand why, Cowan and Howe had to be  punished. After their first escape attempt, they were sent to a camp otherwise reserved for Serbian prisoners. Here they met with arbitrary and sadistic violence, starvation, and rampant disease.

Howe estimated that 3,000 Serbs died of typhus while they were at the camp, including the only Serb doctor. The Brits had been taught to rub paraffin on their skin to drive away lice, while the Serbs had not. Eventually Cowan and Howe met with a Red Cross inspector who got them sent back to Philippopolis, where they proceeded to stage failed escape number three.

This time, the punishment meted out was entirely different. They were sent to an army barracks near Sevlievo, where the congenial commander offered them parole to live freely in the town. 

Amazingly, the prisoner parcel system run by the Red Cross worked. Cowan sent his mother a long list of his requirements—everything from fruitcake and kippers to his favorite felt hat and some boxing gloves, Kipling anthologies, and French grammar books. A few months later, the sealed packages would arrive intact. Among these items were Cowan’s dental tools. 

So they rented a house and set up a much-needed dental practice. Having no anaesthetics, Howe’s job was to immobilize the patient’s head while Cowan would perform the work, especially extractions. 

Howe discovered that  “In Sevlievo, I could write a cheque on any old piece of paper, address it to Messrs Cox & [Co.] in Whitehall [his regiment’s bankers], and the locals would cash it for me.” Such was the respect shown to a British officer. 

Cowan and Howe both proved to be gifted linguists, and had quickly become fluent in Bulgarian. Crucial to the myth of the three-year contract, they were also able to mingle with ordinary Bulgarians—in the dental practice, cafes, barracks, shops and even on the streets—picking up bits of  news and gossip.

In September 1918, upon hearing rumors that the front was collapsing, Cowan and Howe simply informed their captors that they were leaving for awhile, and no one stopped them. They spent several days traveling a hundred miles over roads and trains over-filled with rebellious soldiers going home. However, Cowan and Howe didn’t go toward the Allied forces. Instead they headed to the capitol, Sofia, which was awash in political turmoil—Tsar Ferdinand I had abdicated, Stamboliyski was freed, and a peasant revolt was heating up. 

A Zeppelin over Sofia, 1915

Arriving at the chaotic rail station, they caught a horse-drawn cab to the nearly deserted Ministry of War, where, despite their less than spiffy uniforms, they brazenly announced that they were an advance party of British officers and were taking control in the name of His Majesty King George. No one raised an objection. A ministry car and driver were found to take the pair to the city’s Grand Hotel—the headquarters of the German mission—where they demanded and got the best rooms in the house. An hour later, having washed and shaved, they entered the hotel dining room, which was full of Germans. Undeterred, the pair informed the maître d' that they required the head table and would he tell the two gentlemen currently seated there to kindly move? At which request the senior German officers concerned rose wordlessly and left their seats. Then one of the Brits raised a champagne toast: “Long live England—vive les alliés,” while the Germans only glared. It was great fun, but they knew that it couldn’t last. Not too long after, they slipped away, returning to their captors in Sevlievo in order to avoid being listed as deserters when the British got there. 

“It was a great moment,” remembered Howe. “One of the greatest moments of my life—perhaps never again one like it. One of those moments when you know there is nothing you cannot do, when no obstacles exist, when no one can touch you.”

After the war, both went on to have long careers with the Foreign Office. In retirement in the 1970’s, Howe wrote about his experiences in unpublished memoirs, including his account of an occasion shortly after the war, when as a junior diplomat in Belgrade [Britain didn’t have an Embassy in Sofia until 1939] he met the political architect behind the plot, even discussing the matter with him at a function in Bulgaria’s royal palace. Later, Cowan corresponded with Cyril Falls CBE (1888–1971), author of the official British history,  History of the Great War, and he gave Cowan’s story a footnote.

According to Sheppard, the French and British had gathered intelligence that indicated poor morale in the Bulgarian Army before the Battle of Dobro Pole (15–18 September 1918), and indeed the depleted Bulgarian 2nd and 3rd Divisions were overcome by the  French, Greek, and Serbian attackers. Sheppard has also found some mentions in Bulgarian histories and oblique references in both Ludendorff’s and Hindenburg's memoirs.

A Bulgarian Officer Surrenders His Unit at the End of September

Sheppard argues that Cowan and Hope are strong witnesses for the veracity of the three-year contract. They both independently stated that the public believed that it was real and that it was a brainstorm of Alexander Stamboliyski. Although the Agrarian leader never acknowledged this, he also never lived to write his memoirs—he was assassinated in 1923.   

Though unaware of the fact at the time, the two friends later believed that they had witnessed a momentous act of Balkan propaganda that had a profound effect not only on the Bulgarian soldiery but also on the increasingly fragile mindset at Germany’s high command and its head, the de facto dictator, Erich Ludendorff. 

The story of  Cowan and Hope’s adventure in Sofia could certainly make an entertaining screenplay. 

Order HERE

Sources: Aspects of History, Balkan Dave, History Is Now,  Key Military, National World War One Museum, and The Salonika Campaign Society 

Recommended Apparel for World War One Commemorative Events

Honor Guard 2025 Victory Memorial Garden Ceremony
Elysian Park, Los Angeles

Being the galactic center for all things World War I, Roads to the Great War has historically received inquiries on a vast variety of topics.  One of these has been in regard to what might be suitable clothing to wear at an  Armistice-Veterans-Remembrance Day commemoration.  Sadly, we have not had a resident fashion advisor on our editorial staff to provide any advice on these matters. This year, however, our long-time contributor, Courtland Jindra and his fellow Friends of Elysian Park in Los Angeles have set an example for all of us who regularly attend World War I events.  

Every year they commemorate their restoration of their favorite park's Victory Memorial Grove and its Daughters of the American Revolution monument. Your editor has attended dozens of such events, but he has never found himself in the presence of such a gorgeously garbed group. He believes the  Friends of Elysian Park have set a new standard for such future events and recommends their approach to all of the World War I community.

For Gentlemen

Male Attendees Selected Either the British Regimental Look or the Yankee Straw Boater Style. Blue Blazers and—of course—Red Poppies Were Mandatory. 

For Ladies

There Was a Delightful Variety—Elegant Casual to Beachside—
in the Fashion Styles of the Female Attendees, Who Also Proudly Displayed Their Red Poppies. (Hopefully, There Will Be More Great Hats at Next Year's Event.)

Three Poem of Isaac Rosenberg Read

Self-Portrait in Steel Helmet (1916)
Isaac Rosenberg, 1890–1918

Isaac Rosenberg was an English poet and artist born to parents of Jewish heritage, who had immigrated from Lithuania. His Poems from the Trenches (printed posthumously in 1922)  are recognized as some of the most outstanding poetry written during the First World War.

In 1915, lacking any job prospects and with the war in Germany heating up, Rosenberg decided to enlist in the Bantam Battalion of the Suffolk Regiment. He was sent to the Western Front in 1916, and would never rise above the rank of private. On 1 April 1 1918, while on night patrol south of Arras, Rosenberg was killed in battle. His body was never found. 

Break of Day in the Trenches 

The Immortals

Returning, We Hear the Larks 

Ten Thoughts from Pacifist Romain Rolland Inspired by the War

Romain Rolland

Romain Rolland (born 29 January 1866, Clamecy, France—died 30 December 1944, Vézelay) was a French novelist, dramatist, and essayist, an idealist who was deeply involved with pacifism, the search for world peace, and the analysis of artistic genius. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1915.

In 1912, after a brief career in teaching art and musicology, he resigned to devote all his time to writing. He collaborated with Charles Péguy in the journal Les Cahiers de la Quinzaine, where he first published his best-known novel, Jean-Christophe, 10 vol. (1904–12). For this and for his pamphlet Au-dessus de la mêlée (1915; Above the Battle), a call for France and Germany to respect truth and humanity throughout their struggle in World War I, he was awarded the Nobel Prize. His thought was the centre of a violent controversy and was not fully understood until 1952 with the posthumous publication of his Journal des années de guerre, 1914–1919 (Journal of the War Years, 1914–1919). In 1914 he moved to Switzerland, where he lived until his return to France in 1937. In the 1930s, Rolland grew closer and closer to the Parti communiste français (PCF), the French Communist Party, and became part of the anti-fascist movement. 

______________________________

• I find war detestable but those who praise it without participating in it even more so.

• Love of my country does not demand that I shall hate and slay those noble and faithful souls who also love theirs. . . What ideal have you held up to the devotion of these youths so eager to sacrifice themselves? Their mutual slaughter! 

• A great nation assailed by war has not only its frontiers to protect: it must also protect its good sense. It must protect itself from the hallucinations, injustices, and follies which the plague lets loose. 

• One day History will pass judgment on each of the nations at war; she will weigh their measure of errors, lies, and heinous follies. Let us try to make ours light before her!

• Europe is like a besieged town. Fever is raging. Whoever will not rave like the rest is suspected. And in these hurried times when justice cannot wait to study evidence, every suspect is a traitor.

• It must be admitted that on neither side have they brought honor to the cause of reason, which they have not been able to protect against the winds of violence and folly.

• We cannot stop the war, but we can make it less bitter. There are medicines for the body. We need medicines for the soul, to dress the wounds of hatred and vengeance by which the world is being poisoned. 

• Of what use are such as cannot serve! Yet these are the most innocent victims of this war. They have not taken part in it, and nothing had prepared them for such calamities. 

• O young men that shed your blood with so generous a joy for the starving earth! O heroism of the world! What a harvest for destruction to reap under this splendid summer sun! Young men of all nations, brought into conflict by a common ideal, making enemies of those who should be brothers; all of you, marching to your death, are dear to me. 

• The newspapers of both countries give publicity only to prejudiced stories unfavorable to the enemy. One would imagine that they devote themselves to collecting only the worst cases, in order to preserve the atmosphere of hatred. . .

He Stands for All the Fallen: Lt. Quentin Roosevelt, 95th Aero Squadron–Video

(A Tip –  Enable Captions! Narrator is excellent, but speaks rapidly.)

A Canadian Classic: Barometer Rising by Hugh MacLennan

Devastated Halifax, 6 December 1917

By Hugh MacLennan

New Canadian Library, 2007 (1941)

Susanne Marshall, Reviewer

Originally presented in The Canadian Encyclopedia 

Barometer Rising was the first novel published by Hugh MacLennan, arguably Canada's most significant novelist of the middle of the 20th century and certainly its most recognized. First published  in 1941 amidst the turmoil of the Second World War, the novel is set during the First World War, not on the battlefields of Europe but in Canada before, during, and after the Halifax Explosion, which destroyed much of that city's north end on the morning of 6 December 1917. MacLennan himself was a survivor of the explosion and drew on his own memories as a boy of ten who witnessed the destruction. Barometer Rising marks a shift in MacLennan's writing from works with international themes—which failed to find publishers—to the decidedly nationalist theme that occupies his major works.

Barometer Rising is an allegory of Canada's shift away from the political and cultural influences of colonial, imperial Britain to a decolonized independence and emergent national consciousness throughout the course of the First World War. The mythological template of Homer's Odyssey is clearly in evidence throughout the book; the tale of a hero's return and redemption is also the narrative of a culture's coming of age. Protagonist Neil MacRae returns to Nova Scotia from the battlefields of Europe, where his body, mind, and reputation have been battered. His morally bankrupt Anglophile uncle, Geoffrey Wain, the former colonel of his regiment, has blamed him for the failure of an attack, and MacRae is under threat of prosecution and execution for cowardice. 

While MacRae and Penelope Wain, who is the colonel's daughter and MacRae's former lover, seek to clear his name, Col. Wain seeks to bury the past and profit from the opportunities the war presents. The explosion literally blows the old order apart, disintegrating its cynicism and hollow ideals and affording MacRae the chance to emerge an active hero for a new generation and a country on the brink of renewal. At the end of the novel, MacRae and Penelope Wain are poised to depart from "old" Halifax for the dynamic potential of the westward regions of the country.

Certainly, the novel has had its share of criticism. George Woodcock, classifying it as "romantic realism," noted MacLennan's relative conservatism, in contrast to literary movements of the time; his works' didacticism and sometimes simplistic characterization; and their reliance on local colour and on coincidence. Barometer Rising has aged better than many of MacLennan's works, nevertheless contemporary critics and readers often find the quality and tone of his nationalism jarring. Barometer Rising suggests the new role of Canada is to be a bridge between Britain and America . . .

Order HERE

Nevertheless, Barometer Rising's immediate popularity—sufficient to allow MacLennan to leave his teaching post at Lower Canada College—has not waned; it remains beloved by Canadian readers who savour MacLennan's skilled and powerful evocations of the atmosphere of wartime Halifax, of the chaotic horror of the explosion and its aftermath, and the heroic efforts of the survivors. Furthermore, by the middle of the 20th century, Canadian readers were hungry for Canadian subjects; Barometer Rising announced a turn in literary production in Canada to consciously Canadian stories about the growing nation and its people, which continued in a flowering of Canadian literary nationalism in the following decades.

Susanne Marshall