An Execution and Its Sequel

 

Dramatization of a British Execution

From: A Brass Hat in No Man's Land

By Brigadier Frank Percy Crozier, 36th Ulster Division and 40th "Bantam" Division

While commander of the 9th Royal Irish Rifles two of Colonel Frank Crozier's men, an officer and and enlisted man, were convicted of cowardice and desertion in separate courts martial. Crozier later wrote about what ensued.

One day we received a wire. Rochdale [the officer] is to be ‘released from arrest and all consequences.’ They try to send him back to duty but I refuse to receive him.

[I am then asked] as to whether sentence of death should be carried out on [enlisted man] Crocker. In view of certain circumstances I recommend the shooting be carried out… in peace time, I and the rest of us would have been very upset indeed at having to shoot a colleague … Now the men don’t like it but they have to put up with it …I arrange that enough spirituous liquor is left beside him to sink a ship. In the morning at dawn … as he is produced I see he is practically lifeless … 

Inside the little garden on the other side of the wall, not ten yards distant from the centre of the line, the victim is carried to the stake. He is far too drunk to walk. He is out of view save from myself, as I stand on a mound near the wall. As he is produced I see he is practically lifeless and quite unconscious. He has already been bound with ropes. There are hooks on the post; we always do things thoroughly in the Rifles. He is hooked on like dead meat in a butcher’s shop. His eyes are bandaged – not that it really matters, for he is already blind.

The men of the firing party pick up their rifles, one of which is unloaded, on a given sign. On another sign they come to the Present and, on the lowering of a handkerchief by the officer, they fire – a volley rings out – a nervous ragged volley it is true, yet a volley. Before the fatal shots are fired I had called the battalion to attention. There is a pause, I wait. I see the medical officer examining the victim. He makes a sign, the subaltern strides forward, a single shot rings out. Life is now extinct. We march back to breakfast while the men of a certain company pay the last tribute at the graveside of an unfortunate comrade. This is war.

Brigadier Crozier

To this sad story there was a sequel. Some months later one of my officers was on leave, and as he had recently been awarded the D.S.O. was entertained to luncheon by his Club. At the function there were present some young business men who had not volunteered for war service. One of these asked my officer if it were true that ‘one of your men had been executed for desertion, and if so did he not think it was a very discreditable affair for the battalion and a disgrace to  the city?’ 

‘Well,’ my officer replied, ‘the unfortunate man volunteered to serve his country in the field; you have not done even that yet. He went through the trials of a truly terrible winter in the trenches. He endured bombardment, mud, exposure, cold, frost, trench-feet, sleepless nights and daily drudgery under conditions in which man was never intended to play a part (he had to play a part the whole time to keep going at all). This quite unnatural test broke his spirit. His brain was probably affected. In despair he quitted the line. Why don’t you and your other slacking and profiteering friends join up and have a shot at doing better than this unhappy comrade of ours? If you can’t stand the test and are executed because you are not endowed with the steel-like qualities which make for war efficiency, I shall think better of you than I do now. Our dead comrade, whom we had to kill with our own hands and rifles pour encourager les autres [ for the encouragement of others] is a hero compared with you! He tried and failed. He died for such as you! Isn’t it time you had a shot at dying for your country?’

All About Those Italian Battleships

RN Vittorio Emanuele 

(Pre-Dreadnought)

Sorry No Video Available

Vittorio Emanuele was an Italian pre-dreadnought battleship, laid down in 1901, launched in 1904 and completed in 1908. She was the second member of the Regina Elena class, which included three other vessels: Regina Elena, Napoli, and Roma. Vittorio Emanuele was armed with a main battery of two 12-in. guns and twelve 8-in. guns. She was quite fast for the period, with a top speed of nearly 21 knots.

Vittorio Emaneule saw action in the Italo-Turkish War as the flagship of the 1st Division. During the war, she participated in operations in Cyrenaica and the eastern Mediterranean Sea, including the seizure of the islands of Rhodes and the Dodecanese. She served during the First World War, but saw no combat during the war due to the hesitance of both the Italian and Austro-Hungarian navies to risk their capital ships in pitched battle. She remained in service as a training ship until 1923, when she was stricken from the naval register and broken up for scrap

RN Dante Alighieri 

(Second-Generation Dreadnought)

RN Conte di Cavour 

(Third-Generation Dreadnought)

Littorio Class, Part I 

(Post-WWI Dreadnought)

Littorio Class, Part II 

(Post-WWI Dreadnought)

8th Anniversary for Roads to the Great War

Greetings,

Eight years ago I decided to add a daily blog to my publishing efforts at Worldwar1.com. Our first article, presented on 15 May 2013, was a contribution from my friend and regular contributor Tony Langley on  Italian war artist Fortunino Matania.  After nearly 3,000 postings, I've decided  that for our  anniversary issue I should republish Tony's article. This time, however, instead of just one of Matania's masterworks,  I'd include a half-dozen to support Tony's piece.  I hope you enjoy this revisit and thanks for your readership over the years.  MH

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Fortunino Matania (1881–1963) is one of the greatest wartime realist illustrators—certainly of the Great War, maybe others as well. His imagery has contributed to the way millions of people viewed the war while it was being fought. He knew how to distill events into single scenes while still telling a narrative or presenting typical occurrences at the front and all this in a realistic style that has often been mistaken at first viewing for a real photograph.

He was an Italian-born artist who ended up working before and during the Great War for the most prestigious British weekly illustrated news magazines such as The Sphere. His images were sold worldwide to other publications and were later also used as illustrative material for postwar books and volumes. 

After the war he became known for being one of several artists who helped create a specific science fiction and sword-and-fantasy look for characters by Edgar Rice Burroughs. He was also very active in producing artwork that presented a view of classical antiquity that was somewhat reminiscent of the great works by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema but was nevertheless more suited to the tastes of an average reader of novels or pulp fiction stories.

A most prolific and competent illustrator during his long career, Matania is all but forgotten at present. It is rare to find full-color wartime illustrations by Matania. Most of his work was reproduced in magazines or as prints in black, white, and grey tone. The final, two-page illustration comes from a special edition of The Sphere that contained several other full-color illustrations by Matania and other artists working for this magazine. 

Tony Langley

Tommy's Kits: Agincourt—Waterloo—the Somme

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Agincourt

Waterloo

The Somme

Source: Thom Atkinson  Soldiers' Inventories Project, images found at  Militaryimages.net

How Did Portugal End Up on the Western Front?

by Hugo Rodrigues

BACKGROUND

The alleged reason for Portugal's entry in the Great War was its historical alliance with England and later Great Britain, which dates back to 1386. This alliance (the Treaty of Windsor) was the cornerstone of Portuguese foreign policy until Portugal's admission into NATO after World War II but, as is perhaps to be expected, always meant much more for Portugal than for Britain. But other causes contributed to it as well.

Portuguese Cemetery, Pas-des-Calais, France

The Partido Republicano Português (Portuguese Republican Party) in power in 1914 owed much of its steady growth in popularity and ultimate success in overthrowing the monarchy (which fell, being replaced by a republic, on 5 October 1910) to the popular uproar caused by the king and cabinet giving in to the infamous British "Ultimatum" of January 1890, which threatened Portugal with war if Portuguese colonial expeditions didn't immediately evacuate parts of what would later become Rhodesia, which they had occupied. Both Portuguese public opinion and the republican leaders were thus still very reluctant to acknowledge as an ally a country which had inflicted upon the Portuguese nation as a whole what was regarded as one of the greatest humiliations of its history.

But the same republican politicians also realistically understood that Portugal's entry in the war was probably the only way to save its African colonies of Angola and Mozambique. Two secret treaties between Great Britain and Germany, signed in 1898 and confirmed in 1912, contemplated the partition of Angola and Mozambique between the former. Thus the Portuguese government felt that the only way to stop its colonies from being traded like small change between Britain and Germany at the future peace talks was to be present at those talks with a voice of its own and the right to make demands from Britain after fighting alongside her. And the only way to achieve this was entering the war.

PORTUGAL'S ENTRY IN THE WAR

Departing Portugal for the Western Front

But Britain herself was not enthusiastic at all about an eventual participation of its Portuguese ally in the war. The British held the Portuguese armed forces in the utmost (even racist) contempt and considered the country as a whole an absolutely worthless ally, incapable of defending itself and its colonies, let alone giving some sort of positive contribution to the British war effort.  Thus, despite skirmishes between German and Portuguese colonial troops and tribal revolts in Africa instigated by Germany were taking place since August 1914, in the same month the Portuguese government, under pressure from Britain, declared its neutrality, while reaffirming that the country was still bound by its old alliance with the United Kingdom. By 1915, though, the raising and training of a military force had already begun.

Only the relentless butchery on the Western front convinced the British and French commands that the Portuguese forces could be of some use. Portugal was therefore "allowed" to enter the war. The actual cause of the formal German declaration of war on 9 March 1916 was the seizure of 36 German and Austro-Hungarian merchant ships anchored in front of Lisbon since the beginning of the war on 24 February 1916, at Britain's request. These were to be used by Portugal to carry vital foodstuffs for the civilian population (or so ran the official version).

Despite Portugal's assurance that the ships would be handed back to Germany and indemnities paid, the German minister (Ambassador) Friedrich Rosen delivered a formal declaration of war by Germany on 9 March 1916, claiming Portugal was an "English vassal" and the seizure of the ships was an intentional provocation (the latter being of course absolutely correct). Portugal promptly reciprocated by declaring war on Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

THE CREATION OF THE PORTUGUESE EXPEDITIONARY CORPS

Training for Combat

After the German declaration of war on 9 March 1916, the Portuguese government pledged to send an expeditionary force to fight on the Western Front. Overcoming considerable difficulties, Portugal managed to raise a well-equipped and trained force in just three months. This astounding achievement, of which a celebrated parade held at Montalvo in 22 July 1916 was the crowning glory, became known as "the miracle of Tancos" (Tancos being the camp where the forming of the Portuguese units and the training of its soldiers took place).

By a decree of 17 January 1917, two separate expeditionary forces were organized:

The Corpo de Artilharia Pesada Independente (CAPI)—Independent Heavy Artillery Corps—would consist of three mixed groups of three heavy batteries each (one of 320mm railway guns and two of 190mm or 240mm pieces), plus a depot battery, and would be placed under French operational command. All of these artillery pieces would be supplied by Great Britain.

The Corpo Expedicionário Português (CEP)—Portuguese Expeditionary Corps—originally supposed to consist of a single reinforced division, was expanded to a two-division army corps, with a theoretical strength of 54,976 men, in February 1917. The CEP would be placed under the operational command of the British First Army in the Artois/Flanders front. 

The CEP began arriving at the harbour of Brest on 2 February 1917. From February 1917 until 28 October of the same year, a total of 59,383 men were shipped to France. From Brest, the troops embarked on a three-day-long train travel until the concentration area of the CEP in the area of Aire-sur-la-Lys/Thérouanne, where they underwent training in trench and gas warfare prior to occupying their assigned position in the front line. They also received British equipment, including helmets, and weaponry (namely the Short Magazine Lee Enfield and the Lewis gun). 

In the Trenches: Just in Time for the 1918 Campaign

By 11 May 1917, the first Portuguese units took their place in the front line, the deployment of the brigades being completed by 5 November of the same year.  Their fate, will be discussed in a future posting on Roads to the Great War.

Vera Brittain's Pilgrimage: A Roads Classic

One of the most memorable literary traditions of the Great War involves the postwar pilgrimage of VAD nurse and author Vera Brittain to the grave of her brother Edward on the Asiago Plateau. Author Francis Mackay  describes the visit in the excellent new addition to the Battleground Europe series, Asiago. Edward was killed in what is known alternatively as the Battle of Asiago or Operation Radeztky, part of an even larger action on the Italian Front, the Battle of the Piave in June 1918. Mackay describes both the action in which Edward fell and then Vera's postwar visit to his grave:

[The infantry assault began at 6:45 am on June 15th and several breeches were made in the British line.  Edward Brittain's] "A" Company had suffered severe casualties from artillery fire and was trying to hold nearly eight hundred metres of the line with (probably) only fifty rifles; an impossible task even when they were reinforced by the picquet platoon. Brittain, by now apparently the only unwounded officer in the company, appeared on the scene, returning from consulting with the French. Rapidly organizing a counter-attack group, which included some French soldiers, he led an attack which forced the enemy back. Some jumped out of the trench and ran back towards others coming through the wire. These enemy troops went to ground and opened fire on the Foresters, as did machine-gunners and riflemen on both sides of the wire. Brittain re-organized the defense of the trench, forming a flank with what troops were available. He apparently paused to observe the enemy, and was killed, possibly sniped by an Austrian officer. . . On the Allied right the Italian line [had been] breached, and the enemy penetrated about two kilometres towards the escarpment. They were held, but it took five days of bitter fighting to restore the line. In the centre the French beat off a mass attack with only minor casualties. The British were also attacked and the front line breached in several places, but after some hard fighting it was restored. Radetzky failed, and, after some bitter fighting, so did Albrecht. Conrad and Boroevic lost their last battles and the k.u.k. lost its will to win.

[Among the British dead was] Captain Edward Harold Brittain, MC, [who] was the adored elder brother of Vera Brittain. When war broke out the Brittain family had been living in Buxton and Edward sought a commission in the county regiment. He joined the 1/1 Sherwood Foresters in France, was wounded on the first day of the Somme, and awarded the MC. In 1914 Vera had been an undergraduate at Oxford but became a VAD nurse after her fiancé, Roland Leighton, was mortally wounded with the 1/7 Worcesters at Hébuterne in December 1915. After the war she wrote Testament of Youth, [Testament of Friendship, Testament of Experience], married, and was the mother of former Labour Cabinet Minister Baroness Shirley Williams.

After the Armistice . . .[many of the remains of A Company's casualties were re-interred] at Granezza Cemetery, near the southern end of the valley, and in the lea of Monte. Corno. This is a very quiet and peaceful place, and no less beautiful than the silent woods of the Barental Valley.

[Edward Brittain's] death was not more poignant than that of any other young officer or soldier, but the eloquence of his sister's writing ensured that the anguish felt by his family and friends was recorded for future generations. She articulated for others not so gifted with words the agony of yet another death among those nearest and dearest to a family. After many years, Testament of Youth still has the capacity to move, as many of today's generation will testify.

How strange, how strange it is," I reflected, as I looked, with an indefinable pain stabbing my chest, for Edward's name among those neat rows of oblong stones, "that all my past years-the childhood of which I have no one, now, to share the remembrance, the bright fields at Uppingham, the restless months in Buxton, the hopes and ambitions of Oxford, the losses and long-drawn agonies of the War- should be buried in this grave on the top of a mountain, in the lofty silence, the singing unearthly stillness, of these remote forests ! At every turn of every future road I shall want to ask him questions, to recall to him memories, and he will not be there. Who could have dreamed that the little boy born in such uneventful security to an ordinary provincial family would end his brief days in a battle among the high pine-woods of an unknown Italian plateau?"

Close to the wall, in the midst of a group of privates from the Sherwood Foresters who had all died on June 15th, I found his name "Captain E. H. Brittain, M.C., 11th Notts. and Derby Regt. Killed in action June 15th, 1918. Aged 22" In Venice I had bought some rosebuds and a small asparagus fern in a pot; the shopkeeper had told me that it would last a long time, and I planted it in the rough grass beside the grave.

"How trivial my life has been since the War ! "I thought, as I smoothed the earth over the fern. "How mean they are, these little strivings, these petty ambitions of us who are left, now that all of you are gone! How can the future achieve, through us, the somber majesty of the past? Oh, Edward, you're so lonely up here; why can't I stay for ever and keep your grave company, far from the world and its vain endeavors to rebuild civilization, on this Plateau where alone there is dignity and peace?"

But when at last I came from the cemetery, the child, who had been playing with his father near the car, ran up to me holding out a bunch of scabious and white clover that he had picked by the roadside.

"For the little signorina," he said.

By permission of Francis Mackay

Liaison 1914: A Narrative of the Great Retreat

by Edward Spears. Foreword by Winston Churchill

Pen & Sword, 2021. First published in 1930.

Peter L. Belmonte, Reviewer

The Author, Second from Right, with French Officers in 1914

Edward Spears was an Englishman born in Paris in 1886. He entered the British Army in 1903 and in July 1914 was sent as a liaison officer to the French high command, a position for which he was well suited due to his temperament and command of the French language. He was thus in the right place at the right time. During the following six weeks, Spears performed liaison duties and was well placed to comment upon the actions of many British and French leaders during the German advance to the Marne River. Readers familiar with this opening campaign through reading only surveys or general histories will appreciate this candid, intelligent view from a man who was closely involved with many aspects of the Allies’ retreat.

In later years, Spears often heard disparaging remarks, particularly among the French with whom he associated, regarding the British Army’s performance during the opening months of the war. Irritated at these inaccuracies, Spears wrote this book “to contribute something to the true story of the war, and to vindicate the role of the British Expeditionary Force in 1914” (p. xxxi). In this, Spears succeeds admirably.

When one considers that approximately 465 pages of this narrative are taken up by a description of events from 27 July through 14 September 1914, one may get an idea of the minute detail involved in the account. Spears details the intricate, often baffling maneuvers of the various units involved in the campaign, providing an almost hourly account. One can feel deeply the confusion that prevailed. This is not a detailed account of the battles during those days; rather, it is a vibrant account of the difficulties of liaison and decision-making among the French and British leaders.

Those who like to read about “how the sausage is made” will appreciate reading about the incredible strain and nerve-racking pressure under which the various headquarters staffs worked. Consider this report regarding a competent British staff officer:

On the previous night the strain had been so frightful that the Chief of Staff, [General] Sir Archibald Murray, exhausted by anxiety and overwork, had had a temporary collapse from shock when the false news was received that the enemy had attacked and defeated the I Corps at Landrecies. [p. 233]

Spears, as a liaison officer, saw and experienced all of this and more. Despite the fact that Spears was a young and junior officer, he performed the arduous tasks that had devolved upon him with remarkable skill and devotion to duty. Spears concludes an interesting passage about demanding duties of liaison officers with this telling observation: “His life is spent between the hammer and the anvil” (p. 331).

Despite his frenzied work as a liaison officer, Spears found time to volunteer for a flight as an observer in a French aircraft. Airborne, they met a German aircraft, and Spears records what must have been one of the earliest air combats involving an Englishman:

My only weapon was a French cavalry carbine, hardly better than a pistol, with three shots in the magazine. My thoughts were that a megaphone would have been more useful to point out to the German that it was dangerous enough to be where we were without playing any tricks. But having no means of communication I fired at him and he at us: the usual thing in war, each tries to kill the other for fear of being killed himself (p. 292).

Spears’s personal observations and comments about the men he met and worked with really make this a fascinating read. From field marshals and generals to privates and gendarmes, the author’s insights provide us with a human view of the war. He provides first hand character sketches of commanders such as French generals Joseph Joffre, Charles Lanrezac, Louis Franchet d’Espèrey, Louis de Maud’huy, and British field marshal Sir John French, among others. Spears is even-handed in his appraisal of these men, citing the good and the bad that he observed during these hectic weeks.

After recounting the events that drove the Allies back on the Marne River, Spears concludes that there were two main factors that resulted in 5th (French) Army failure: One is G.Q.G. (the French Supreme Headquarters) failure to accept Lanrezac’s assessment of German strength and intentions as they advanced along his front in Belgium. The second is Lanrezac’s reluctance to mount an offensive, particularly along the Sambre River and during the retreat in general. While recognizing British errors during the campaign, Spears also shows how British forces were an important force in stopping and driving back the German Army by mid-September.

Liaison 1914 is supplemented with 88 pages of appendices. These include orders of battle, orders, memoranda, reports, letters, etc., and more are included in ample footnotes in the text. Sixteen fine-quality maps and 49 photographs enhance the text. This book, although not the only resource to be consulted, is vital to an understanding of what happened during those crucial six weeks at the beginning of the Great War. I highly recommend it.

Peter L. Belmonte

Eleven Things I Found at the British Library's Website

Click on image for best viewing.  Here they are 580 pixels in width, enlarged they are 1000 pixels.  MH

This poster commemorates killed soldiers from
Magrè a small town near Vicenza, Italy

This map shows the Allied front line at the Ypres
Salient on 2 December 1917 and the wet and
totally inundated areas.

Indian Patients at the Dome Hospital, Brighton

Lusitania Poster by Belgian Gisbert Combaz (1869–1941)

Original Publication of "Futility" by Wilfred Owen
in The Nation, 15 June 1918

"It's a Long, Long War to Tipperary" Handkerchief

From Digger Dialects (Slang of Australian Soldiers)

Sicilian school publication commemorating Italy’s
entry into the First World War, 24 May 1915

Trench life photos published in a German magazine

Fragments of an explosive bullet extracted from the wound
 of a Serbian soldier in the Russian hospital at Valievo, from "Report upon the atrocities committed by the Austro-Hungarian army during the first invasion
of Serbia;" submitted to the Serbian government.

This chart plots the locations and movements of the Allied
 and German ships between 5:30 p.m. and 5:48 p.m.
during the Battle of Jutland on 31 May 1916.

The Death of Horatio Kitchener

Kitchener, the Recruiting Poster

On 5 June 1916,  just off the Orkney Islands, armored cruiser HMS Hampshire hit a mine.  Nearly all the crew and passengers would perish that evening, including Field Marshal Earl Kitchener of Khartoum and his staff.  Kitchener was en route to Russia,  on a secret mission to bolster support from the tsar for the war.  

He was the most senior officer from either side in the First World War to die on active service and .his loss was viewed as a national disaster. When war broke out in 1914, Kitchener was immediately appointed war secretary. The Times reflected the popular mood, writing: “We need hardly say with what profound satisfaction and relief we hear of Lord Kitchener’s appointment.” The new war secretary was no bonehead and quickly delivered himself of the hugely significant judgment that, far from being over by Christmas, the fighting would last for years. He recognized at once that Britain’s small professional army—vastly outnumbered by the conscript forces of continental Europe—would need to be multiplied in size many times. The war would be won, he said, by “the last million men”.

The Doomed HMS Hampshire

 

By mid-1916, however, Kitchener, had lost his sway with the political leadership. They had come to despise him for his high-handedness and laid blame on  him for the Gallipoli fiasco and the 1915 shell crisis. With the tsar was begging for fresh supplies of guns and explosives and Britain was worried whether Russia, which had taken enormous casualties, would have the will to stay the course of the war. Kitchener jumped at the idea of leading a mission of reassurance. As the commander of the Grand Fleet, Admiral John Jellicoe, who lunched with him just before his departure, recalled later, the war secretary “expressed delight at getting away for a time from the responsibilities and cares attaching to his Office.” He seemed almost to think of his mission as something of a holiday.

Just before 8:00 p.m. on the first day out, there was a tremendous explosion, when a mine, recently laid by U-75, was struck. The Hampshire shuddered and took on water. “It was as though an express train crashed into us,” recalled a stoker who survived. The lights on the cruiser failed as the electrical system short-circuited, though the propellers continued to turn. Within minutes, the vessel was sinking by the bow, with most of the lifeboats not launchable in the storm. It was still daylight, and onshore in the Orkneys, observers from the Royal Garrison Artillery had seen the Hampshire explode. The postmistress in the remote settlement of Birsay sent an immediate SOS by telegraph to Kirkwall to alert the naval authorities. But the Hampshire went down in 15 minutes—time only to launch three small life rafts, which were soon hopelessly overcrowded with desperate sailors. 

Routes of Hampshire & U-75

 

Interviews in the local archives hold the recollections of some of the Orcadians who braved the howling winds and torrential rain to try to rescue those sailors who might make it to the few inlets between the cliffs. They found the life rafts dashed on the rocks, one thrust by the enormous waves into a crevice in the cliffs high above the sea. The British war secretary was last seen standing in his field marshal’s uniform on the starboard side of the quarterdeck, calmly talking to two staff officers as the ship went down. The official report lists 643 dead, though local historian Brian Budge believes the true figure to be 725. It is certain that there were a mere 12 survivors. Of Lord Kitchener there was no sign at all. Though corpses continued to wash up the shores of the Orkneys for weeks afterwards, his body was never found.

When news of the loss of HMS Hampshire reached London, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle reached for his purple ink pot. Lord Kitchener, he said, had left behind “the memory of something vast and elemental, coming suddenly and going strangely, a mighty spirit leaving great traces of its earthly passage.” How to register the loss of this powerful force?

Kitchener Memorial St. Paul's Cathedral

 

The death of Kitchener had a profound impact on the country. “Very like President Kennedy or Princess Diana’s deaths in later years, everyone who was alive then would remember the moment they heard about Kitchener’s death even though three weeks later 20,000 died at the Somme,” says  author James Irvine.  

Sources:  The Scotsman,  4 June 2016; Financial Times, 7 November 2014

Remembering a Veteran: Colonel Troy H. Middleton, 4th Division, AEF

 

Colonel Troy H. Middleton at the End of WWI

As a Lieutenant General, Troy Middleton (1989-1976) was one of America's most successful commanders of the Second World War.  His army career had begun 35 years earlier when he enlisted in the Army as 20-year old private.  Within two years, Middleton had earned a commission and led troops on the Vera Cruz Expedition and the Mexican Border episode.  Then came the Great War during which he was promoted to full colonel, the youngest in the United States Army and Expeditionary Force. Much of his life was centered around  Louisiana and Louisiana State University (where he eventually became its president) and is well-remembered in the area.  In 2020, a newspaper in the Baton Rouge area published a long tribute to him covering his entire career.  Here are some selections covering his military service.

During World War I. . .  he commanded the First Battalion, 47th Infantry Regiment in the most important and decisive battle of the war late in 1918 — the Second Battle of the Marne. His men faced the battle-hardened Prussian Fourth Guard Division, which had just returned from a month’s rest, in a four-day battle where the fate of the war was at stake! Middleton’s men pushed the Germans back 12 miles, and the victory was won! From the Marne, Colonel Middleton led the 4th Division to attack the Germans near Verdun. His men broke through German defenses, pushing them back five miles. On October 11, 1918, he was given command of the 39th Infantry Regiment. Overnight he had to prepare to lead his men into enemy territory using a tactic called “marching fire,” where all of the troops constantly fire their weapons while moving through the woods. This caused the dug in Germans to surrender and Middleton’s men’s moved to the edge of the Meuse River. Then, as Colonel Middleton [now commander of the 47th Infantry of the 4th Division] was preparing to chase German defenders down the Moselle River, the Germans signed the surrender, and the war was over.   He also received the Army Distinguished Service Medal for his exemplary service.

Generals Eisenhower and Middleton

 Following World War I, Middleton served at the U.S. Army School of Infantry, the U.S. Army Command and General Staff School, the U.S. Army War College, and as commandant of cadets at LSU. He retired from the army in 1937 to become dean of administration and later comptroller and acting vice president at LSU. His tenure at LSU was fraught with difficulty, as Middleton became one of the key players in helping the university recover from a major scandal where nearly a million dollars had been embezzled.

Recalled to service in early 1942, upon American entry into World War II, Middleton became commanding general of the 45th Infantry Division during the Sicily and Salerno battles in Italy, and then in March 1944 moved up to command the VIII Corps. His leadership in Operation Cobra during the Battle of Normandy led to the capture of the important port city of Brest, France, and for his success he was awarded a second Distinguished Service Medal by General George Patton. 

President Middleton, Louisiana State University

His greatest World War II achievement, however, was in his decision to hold the important city of Bastogne, Belgium, during the Battle of the Bulge. Following this battle, and his corps' relentless push across Germany until reaching Czechoslovakia, he was recognized by both General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander, and Patton as being a corps commander of extraordinary abilities. Middleton logged 480 days in combat during World War II, more than any other American general officer. 

Baton Rouge National Cemetery

Retiring from the army again in 1945, Middleton returned to LSU and in 1951 was appointed to the university presidency, a position he held for 11 years, while continuing to serve the army in numerous consultative capacities. He resided in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, until his death in 1976 and was buried in Baton Rouge National Cemetery. 

Sources: Wikipedia; Central City News, 15 June 2020

SS Prince Charles: The First Successful Q-Ship

From: Q-SHIPS AND THEIR STORY by E. Keble Chatterton

Q-Ship of Similar Size to Prince Charles

Anti-submarine decoy vessels, Q-ships were equipped with concealed guns and torpedoes, and sometimes with false colors.  Many different types of vessels were used, mostly conversions, but some were special built.  One of these was the collier SS Prince Charles a  little vessel of only 373 tons. In peacetime she was commanded by her master, Mr. F. N. Maxwell, and  manned by five deckhands, two engineers, and two firemen. These men all volunteered for what was known to be a hazardous job and were accepted. In command was placed Lieutenant Mark Wardlaw, R.N., and with him went Lieutenant J. G. Spencer, R.N.R., and nine active-service ratings to man the guns and use the rifles. 

Prince Charles carried the weakest of armament—only a 3-pounder and a 6-pounder, with rifles forward and aft. Having completed her fitting out with great secrecy, the Prince Charles left Longhope in the evening of 21 July with orders to cruise on routes where submarines had recently been seen. Proceeding to the westward at her slow gait, she saw very few vessels until 24 July. It was just 6.:20 p.m., when, about ten miles W.N.W. of North Rona Island, she sighted a three-masted vessel with one funnel, apparently stopped. A quarter of an hour later she observed a submarine lying close to the steamer. Here was the steel fish Prince Charles was hoping to bait.

Uncovered Deck Gun on a Q-Ship

Pretending not to see the submarine, and keeping on her course like a real collier, Lieutenant Wardlaw’s ship jogged quietly along, but he was closing up his gun’s crews behind their screens and the mercantile crew were standing by ready to hoist out the ship’s boats when required. The German now started up his oil-engines and came on at full speed toward the Prince Charles. It had just gone seven o’clock and the submarine was 3 miles off. The collier had hoisted her color's and the enemy was about five points on the bow when a German shell came whizzing across. This fell 1,000 yards over. Lieutenant Wardlaw now stopped his engines, put his ship head on to the Atlantic swell, blew three blasts, and then ordered the crew to get the boats out, in order to simulate the movements of an ordinary merchant ship in the presence of an attacking submarine.

In the meantime the enemy was approaching rapidly and fired a second shot, which fell between the funnel and the foremast, but landed 50 yards over. When the range was down to 600 yards the enemy turned her broadside on to the collier and continued firing; and this was now the time for the Q-ship’s captain to make the big decision. Should he maintain his pretense and continue to receive punishment, with the possibility of losing ship and lives in the hope that the submarine would come nearer? Or should he reveal his identity and risk everything on the chance of winning all? This was always the critical moment when the Q-ship captain held in his judgment the whole fate of the fight, of the ship, and his men.

Lieutenant Wardlaw, seeing that the enemy could not be enticed to come any nearer, took the second alternative, and opened fire with his port guns. The effect of this on the German was remarkable and instantaneous; for her gun’s crew at once deserted the gun and darted down into the conning-tower. But whilst they were so doing, one of Prince Charles’s shells struck the submarine 20 feet abaft the conning-tower. The enemy then came round and showed her opposite broadside, having attempted to dive. She now began to rise again as the collier closed to 300 yards, and frequent hits were being scored by the British guns. By this time the surprised Germans had had more than enough, and were observed to be coming out of the conning-tower, whilst the submarine was settling down by the stern. Still the British fire continued, and when the submarine’s bows were a long way out of the water, she took a sudden plunge and disappeared. A large number of men were then seen swimming about, and the Prince Charles at once made every effort to pick them up, 15 officers and men being thus saved out of 33.

U-38, Sister Boat of U-36

So ended the career of U-36. She had left Heligoland on 19 July for a cruise of several weeks via the North Sea, and, up till the day of meeting with Prince Charles, had had a most successful time; for she had sunk eight trawlers and one steamer, and had stopped the Danish SS Louise when the Prince Charles came up. It was not until the submarine closed the latter that U-36 saw the Englishmen clearing away some tarpaulins on deck, and the next moment the Germans were under fire, and the captain gave orders to dive. By this time the submarine had been hit several times, and as she could not be saved, she was brought to the surface by blowing out her tanks. The crew then took to the sea, and the engineer officer opened the valves to sink her, and was the last to leave. Inside, the submarine was wrecked by Prince Charles’s shells and three men were killed, the accurate and rapid fire having immensely impressed the Germans. Thus the first Q-ship engagement had been everything that could be desired, and in spite of the submarine being armed with a 14-pounder and carrying seven torpedoes, the U-boat had been beaten in a fair fight. Lieutenant Mark Wardlaw received a DSO, two of the crew the DSM, and the sum of £1,000 was awarded to be divided among the mercantile crew.

A Brief Truce on the Eastern Front in 1914

Reported by Fritz Kreisler in Four Weeks in the Trenches

We were in the first days of September, and upon reaching the swamps near Grodeck, south of Lemberg, a determined stand was decided upon by our commanding general. It seemed the most propitious place for a formidable defense, there being only few roads through otherwise impassable swamps. On September sixth my battalion was ordered to take up a position commanding a defile which formed one of the possible approaches for the enemy. Here we awaited the Russians, and they were not long in coming. First they violently shelled our position and silenced one of our batteries. Finding their artillery fire did not draw any answer from our side, they attempted to storm our position by means of frontal infantry attacks, combined with occasional raids of Cossacks, which were always repulsed. Finally the Russian infantry succeeded in establishing a number of trenches, the one opposite us not more than five hundred yards away. It was the first time we had come in close touch with the Russians, almost within hailing distance, and with the aid of our field glasses we could occasionally even get a glimpse of their faces and recognize their features. We stayed four days opposite each other, neither side gaining a foot of ground.

A Russian Trench

It was there and then that I made a curious observation. After the second day we had almost grown to know each other. The Russians would laughingly call over to us, and the Austrians would answer. The salient feature of these three days' fighting was the extraordinary lack of hatred. In fact, it is astonishing how little actual hatred exists between fighting men. One fights fiercely and passionately, mass against mass, but as soon as the mass crystallizes itself into human individuals whose features one actually can recognize, hatred almost ceases. Of course, fighting continues, but somehow it loses its fierceness and takes more the form of a sport, each side being eager to get the best of the other. One still shoots at his opponent, but almost regrets when he sees him drop.

By the morning of the third day we knew nearly every member of the opposing trench, the favorite of my men being a giant red-bearded Russian whose constant pastime consisted in jumping like a Jack-in-the-box from the trench, crying over to us as he did so. He was frequently shot at, but never hit. Then he grew bolder, showing himself longer and longer, until finally he jumped out of the trench altogether, shouting to us wildly and waving his cap. His good-humored jollity and bravado appealed to our boys and none of them attempted to shoot at him while he presented such a splendid target. Finally one of our men, who did not want to be second in bravery, jumped out of the trench and presented himself in the full sunlight. Not one attempt was made to shoot at him either, and these two men began to gesticulate at each other, inviting each other to come nearer. All fighting had suddenly ceased, and both opposing parties were looking on, laughing like boys at play. Finally the Russian would draw a step nearer, and our man boldly advanced too. Then the Russians urged on their man with shouts and laughter, and he made a big leap forward, standing still, whereupon the Austrian also jumped forward, and so, step by step, they approached until they nearly touched each other. They had left their rifles behind, and we thought that they were going to indulge in a fist fight, all of us being sorry for our champion, for he was a small and insignificant-looking man who looked as if he could be crushed with one blow by his gigantic opponent. But lo, and behold! The big Russian held out his hand which held a package of tobacco and our Austrian, seizing the tobacco, grasped the hand of the Russian, and then reaching in his pocket produced a long Austrian cigar, which he ceremoniously presented to the Russian. It was indeed a funny sight to see the small, wiry, lean Austrian talking in exaggerated terms of politeness to the blond Russian giant, who listened gravely and attentively, as if he understood every word.

Artist Depiction of an Austrian Trench

By this time all precautions and even ideas of fighting had been forgotten, and we were surprised to find ourselves out of the shelter of our trenches and fully exposed to the Russians, who, in turn, leaned out of their own trenches and showed their heads in full. This unofficial truce had lasted about twenty minutes, and succeeded more in restoring good humor and joy of life among our soldiers than a trainload of provisions would have done. It was one of the incidents that helped to relieve the monotony of trench life and was heartily welcomed by all of us. The fighting, however, soon was resumed with all its earnestness and fierceness, but from this moment on a certain camaraderie was established between the two opposing trenches. Between skirmishes an unofficial truce would frequently be called for the purpose of removing the wounded. During these times when the stretcher-bearers were busy, no shot would be fired on either side

A Dozen Striking War Posters from Austria