Retreat: A Story of 1918

By Charles R. Benstead

The University of South Carolina Press, 2008
David F. Beer, Reviewer

Retreating British Soldiers in an Improvised Trench, Spring 1918

Imagine a devout, sensitive, and extremely orthodox vicar of a comfortable country parish in England during 1914 to 1917. He truly loves his calling and is content in his life among his parishioners. But he's tortured by guilt because war is raging in France and he feels he should somehow be involved, even though he's excused from conscription. After months of intense prayer and soul-searching he volunteers as an army chaplain and arrives at the front in time for Ludendorff's 1918 Spring Offensive and the initial British retreat. The Reverend Elliot Pethwick Warne, picturing himself "in the role of a spiritual savior welcomed by an ecstatic people crying out for salvation" finds himself chaplain to the 200th Brigade, Royal Garrison Artillery.

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The rest of this very readable and rather gripping novel of some 300 pages describes the realities of war and how the poor chaplain metaphorically suffers a death of a thousand cuts. At every turn his dreams and plans are thwarted by the exigencies of war and his own sensitivities and psychological reactions. He finds himself condescended to, ignored, a nuisance, and except for one poorly attended church parade, mostly irrelevant. The end is inevitable. After finishing the book, I spent some time wondering—to what extent might the Reverend Warne be considered a tragic hero?

Although this is a study of one man in the war, the war itself is also powerfully described, as are the brigade colonel and his staff. Toward the end of the novel some of these officers have a serious discussion on church and religion and make some telling points, but by then it's too late for Warne, a man "with a mind saturated with inflexible ideas." We meet one or two other chaplains in the course of the story, characters who fit in because they have neither the devotion nor convictions of Padre Warne. I couldn't help comparing them to the real war chaplains we know about, such as Woodbine Willy, Father Duffy, and Eugene McLaurin, whose diary was edited by Jerry Tompkins and reviewed on this blog on 17 November 2015.

British Casualty Station During the Retreat

Charles R. Benstead's novel was originally published in 1930 and is based on his own experiences in the Great War. Benstead was an artillery officer on the Western Front who later wrote 11 other books,  none quite as successful as this one. The novel's quality is no doubt the reason the University of South Carolina republished the book in its Joseph M. Bruccoli Great War Series, a source for several WWI classics that might otherwise be neglected. It includes a glossary of terms and acronyms peculiar to the British Army of the time, and the new introduction by Hugh Cecil is excellent—although I wish I'd read it after reading the story.

If you're interested in a novel that looks closely at war and religion, psychology, and faith, and shows how they can all be sadly at odds despite the best of intentions, then you will enjoy Retreat: A Story of 1918.

David F. Beer

Map Series #6: The Isonzo Sector of the Italian Front

I found this map in a compilation of New York Times Mid-Week Pictorials that were published during the war.  After three visits to this area, I can say that—though it has many micro-errors and misplacements—it does that best job I've ever seen of capturing the size, terrain, and relative positioning among the key locations I've ever seen for what was the most important sector of the war on the Italian Front.  Begin your review by tracing the Isonzo (now Soca) River from the Gulf of Trieste past the towns of Gorizia, Tomin[o] Caporetto, and Plezzo to the Julian Alps. These towns all played important roles during the war.  Then examine the transitional area between the sea and the mountains which features two rugged plateau with their own mountain peaks, the Bainsezza and the Carso.  The latter was the great killing ground of the Italian Army during the war. The troops deployed here were trying to get to Trieste and in 11 battles only got about a quarter of the way.

I've highlighted some of the names of important locales and circled two sub-sections in yellow that needed to be delineated.  The lower section is where the principal fighting (not all) occurred for the 11 battles of the Isonzo, which were all Italian offensives aimed strategically at capturing Trieste.  The upper area is where the Austro-German Caporetto breakthrough (also known as the 12th Battle of the Isonzo) took place in October 1917.  I don't believe Caporetto had been fought yet when this map was created. As you will see below,  you will need to open the map to be able to read it. The original is 1600 x 2400 pixels.

Click on Image to Enlarge

Wounded at Blanc Mont

by C.A. Brannen, 6th Marines USMC

Carl Brannen, USMC

The American attack in the Argonne would begin on 26 September, a scant ten days after the 2nd Division had been relieved in the St. Mihiel sector. In order to bolster the battered French Army, Pershing offered Pétain the use of the U.S. 2nd and 36th Divisions. As the Franco-American offensive commenced on 26 September, these two formations were in the general reserve of the French Army. There was little doubt that the American 2nd would move up to a tight spot soon, once again under French...General Gourand, the commander of the Fourth French Army....His own army [in the Champagne] had stalled a scant dozen miles to the west in front of a series of high areas known as "Les Monts." The key to the German defense hinged on Blanc Mont; if it fell into French hands, the Germans would have no choice but to fall back on the next natural defensive barrier 30 kilometers to the north. The capture of Blanc Mont Ridge would rejuvenate the French offensive and relieve pressure on the Americans in the Argonne.

...Two or three hours before daylight [on 3 October], the word was passed along to get ready for the attack. Everyone checked his bayonet to see that it was fastened on good with the latch. Ammunition was inspected, and the flaps of the belt unhooked so that a fresh clip could be gotten into the rifle quickly. Each man had two extra bandoleers of ammunition around his shoulders. I made sure the bandoleers of ammunition were in front of my chest. The issued razor was in the right-hand pocket of my blouse and the YMCA-issued Bible was in the left-hand pocket. I was using all of the protection that I could think of.

Just as it was breaking day (zero hour), we came out of our trench and began the ascent in combat formation. The rows of men moved forward unhesitatingly but fell like ten pins before the deadly machine-gun fire. I was a runner to carry messages from flank to flank of my company and the one adjoining, trying to keep the units in contact with each other as the now thin lines swept over the crest.

I was with a lieutenant of the 78th company when we entered the forest of small pines which were along the crest and down the slopes on the other side. We were firing on the retreating enemy as we advanced, sometimes dropping to a knee for better aim. A bullet hit my bayonet about an inch from the muzzle of the rifle while I was carrying it at Port Arms position, shattering the bayonet and leaving me only a stub.

Depiction of the Fighting on Blanc Mont by George Harding

A Marine near me rushed at three Germans who were also near. I speeded up and rushed at them, too, with my rifle lowered to use my bayonet. They surrendered, and then I noticed them looking at my bayonet. I tried to read their minds. They must have thought that I had broken off my bayonet in a man. Later a man in my company saw me with my stub of a bayonet and said, "Old Brannen stuck his bayonet in one and broke it off."

...A machine-gun nest was now holding up the advance. Instead of trying a direct assault, we decided to flank it. The lieutenant asked for some men to go around each flank. Three of us went tot he left. When we were in close proximity to the nest, we were a little too exposed, and the fellow on my right fell, killed. As I jumped for protection into a ditch nearby, a fusillade of bullets caught me below the heart on the left side, through one lens of the field glasses, and against my bandoleer of ammunition. The best I remember, ten bullets in my own belt exploded, but they had deflected the enemy bullets, saving my life. My own bullets ripped my coat to shreds as they exploded and went out over my left shoulder by the side of my face. My cloth bandoleer and the field glasses caught on fire. I got them off me and then replaced the field glasses around my neck again as they quit burning.

I collected myself together and, with the other companion in the ditch, looked for our machine gunner but saw the Americans were now in possession. I suppose we had helped by drawing fire while the others rushed, for on going up there I found three dead Germans stretched out by two guns. One must have gotten away, as it took two for each gun. Machine gunners were never taken prisoners by either side. A machine gunner's only chance was to be taken while he was away from the gun and his captors did not know he had any connection with it. The reason is obvious, for when a man sat behind a gun and mowed down a bunch of men, his life was automatically forfeited.

We stopped and began forming a line along a road. Just ahead, three Germans showed themselves in a trench. Sherwood and I dashed over, and they came out surrendering. They were shaking like a leaf and saying "Telephonique." They were telling us that they worked on keeping up the telephone lines to the front and had no connection with the machine-gun nest which gave me such a raking over and had just been captured.

I had bled over my coat from a bullet striking a brad in the rifle sling and ricocheting the brad into my upper lip. I also thought the scratches in my side should be iodined. The prisoners afforded an excuse for leaving the lines, so I started back with them. As I passed some of my company, they stretched their eyes at the number of bullet holes in my clothes while I grinned at them.

As I got away from any other American soldiers, the prisoners began to stretch out an make too much space between them, so I just prodded the back one with the stub of my bayonet and made him keep up. Back a little ways, I ran into a French officer who in broken English asked me to bring my prisoners to help him with some wounded. They seemed to resent this Frenchman more than they did me, but I made them go and went with them. Shells had almost wiped out a battery of artillery, and the bodies of the men were terribly mangled. We helped bring two of the wounded away. Continuing, I ran into some MPs and turned over my prisoners. Returning toward the line, I went by a first-aid station which had been hurriedly thrown up beside the road, expecting to get painted with iodine. The doctor who was a major looked over me, asked how long I had been with the outfit, and then to my surprise tagged me for the hospital. An ambulance carried a bunch of us back to a field hospital that night. A group of Americans back there when we unloaded for the ambulance ganged around and asked a thousand questions. They marveled at my miraculous escape.

I was placed on my back on a table in a little room with a doctor on each side. They placed some kind of machine over my wound and were looking through it apparently. They seemed to have discovered a bullet inside of me when one of them found that they were looking at a button on the back of my pants. I felt quite relieved when the examination showed that no bullets had penetrated, but had only ragged the flesh a little. A German prisoner was near me with his right arm almost shattered in two at the elbow.

Wounded Men Being Loaded on a Hospital Train

I was so inexperienced at sleeping off the ground and on springs that sleep did not come as readily as I expected. A day here and I was placed on a hospital train with many more to go to Base Hospital #27 at Angers, across France near Bordeaux. I unloaded at night, discarded the muddy, bloody clothes, took a good bath, put on clean pajamas, and crawled between two clean white sheets.

My ward was filled with men with all kinds of wounds. In the morning a nurse came along and took temperatures, which judged what a fellow would get to eat. Next came the doctor and "agony wagon" and so through the days until you were pronounced fit to leave.

Postscript:

When Carl Brannen was terminally ill with prostate cancer 59 years later, x-rays revealed a bullet in his side which had been missed at the field hospital in France.

Sources:  The Doughboy Center

Winston Churchill's Closest Call on the Western Front

Churchill on the Western Front

Ploegsteert Wood was a sector of the Western Front in Flanders in World War I, part of the Ypres Salient on its southern edge. After fierce fighting in late 1914 and early 1915, Ploegsteert Wood ("Plugstreet " to the Tommies) became a relatively quiet sector until 1917's Battle of Messines. From January to May 1916, Winston Churchill served in the area as commanding officer (Lieutenant-Colonel) of the 6th Battalion of the Royal Scots Fusiliers. When he first arrived in Flanders, he wrote to Clemmie of:

[F]ilth and rubbish everywhere, graves built into the defences & scattered about promiscuously, feet & clothing breaking through the soil, water and muck on all sides; & about this scene in the dazzling moonlight troops of enormous rats creep & glide, to the unceasing accompaniment of rifle & machine guns & the venomous whining & whirring of the bullets which pass overhead.

A Rest Area in Ploegsteert Wood

His was not an especially active sector, but he was known to spend time in the frontline trenches, ventured into to no-man's-land, and at least once came under machine gun fire.

However, Churchill's closest visit from death during his service on the Western Front came when he was called to the rear for a meeting with a general. Returning, disgusted that the meeting never took place, he discovered that the shelter he had vacated was destroyed by artillery fire minutes after he had departed.

Sources: Forty Ways to Look at Winston Churchill; Winstonchurchill.org; Photo from Steve Miller 

The Return of “New York’s Own”

"New York's Own"
Two Stalwarts of the 77th Division in France 

By Keith Muchowski

In late March we wrote of New York City’s Madison Square Victory Arch and the homecoming parade for the 27th Division. As spring 1919 proceeded there were similar parades in New York and across the nation for the ever-more arriving troops. It had been a busy six months for Rodman Wanamaker, chairman of  New York City mayor John Hylan’s Committee of Welcome to Homecoming Troops, and his team of nearly 5000. 

Boarding the USS Agamemnon for the Journey Home, 29 April 1919 

From early December 1918 until late April 1919 over 300 ships carrying more than half a million men had arrived in New York Harbor. Nearly all of these returnees received some form of recognition and welcome. For some units this included formal parades. There were at least five full-scale processions, including spectacles for the Harlem Hellfighters in February, the 27th Division in March, and the 69th Infantry Regiment in April. As we noted, the 27th had a raucous, even tragic, welcome home on 25 March in which two parade watchers were trampled to death and almost three dozen injured. Officials had learned their lesson and were determined that when the 77th Division marched six weeks later there would be no repeat. 

Parade Ticket for 6 May 1919

The 27th may have been the “New York Division,” comprised mainly of men from across the Empire State, but the 77th was “New York’s Own,” consisting of recruits primarily from within the five boroughs themselves. The unit was so dynamic that it had not one but two monikers: the “Liberty Division,” complete with a blue-and-gold Statue of Liberty insignia; and more colloquially the “Melting Pot Division,” in recognition of the “hyphenated-Americans” who made up such a large percentage of the men. Many in the ranks of the 77th were either immigrants or first-generation Americans whose parents were born in the old countries. These boys hailed from Little Italy, the Lower East Side, and other ethnic enclaves, where they grew up living in tenements, playing in the streets, and swimming in the East River. All told, over two dozen nationalities were represented within the Liberty Division.

It wasn’t just their backgrounds and many languages spoken that captured the public’s interest; the Liberty Division fought in some of the hardest-fought campaigns of the Great War, including in the Oise-Aisne and Meuse-Argonne Offensives. By Armistice Day nearly 2,000 were killed and four times that number wounded. The division included the Lost Battalion, the romanticized unit in which Major Charles W. Whittlesey and the 500-plus men under his command were trapped behind enemy lines, hunkered down under German fire, and separated from their own division, for five harrowing days.

The 77th Division Passing Through the Madison Square Victory Arch

After threat of inclement spring weather things cleared on the morning of Tuesday 6 May 1919 in time for the 27,000 men of the 77th Division to parade before a crowd estimated at two million. Not that all of the parade watchers got to see the procession. Fearing a re-occurrence of the the tragedies that marred 27th Division’s parade, police blocked off numerous sight lines and kept hundreds of thousands of viewers behind barriers, sometimes too far away even to glimpse the marchers as they wound their way from Washington Square Park up Fifth Avenue to 110th Street where Central Park ends. There were many complaints later but thankfully no repeat of the events of 25 March. Those who could see [through the crowd] witnessed the soldiers passing “in compact formation, one mass of men, following another, turning the great highway into a river running bank-full with olive drab and steel” as the New York Times described it in the next day’s edition.

In reference to the “melting pot” nature of the division the Times averred that the parade was a “Wonderful Demonstration of [the] War’s Americanization” and added further down that “These New York boys, though drawn from nearly every race on earth, made a dashing and magnificent picture.” The reporter singled out Sing Kee, “the highly Americanized Color Sergeant of the 308th Infantry,” for special praise. (See photo below.) Lau Sing Kee, as was his full name, was a Chinese-American and Californian who earned the Purple Heart, Distinguished Service Cross, and Croix de Guerre for his actions in the Argonne, where he remained at his post for three days despite being gassed and shelled intensely.

The Divisional Color Guard

The parade for the 77th Division in early May 1919 was the last large-scale Great War commemoration in New York City and signaled the end of a particular moment in the history of the conflict. By mid-spring most Doughboys were stateside and, if not officially discharged, then on the verge of mustering out. While all this was going on, negotiators in Paris were brokering the Versailles Treaty. Victors and vanquished signed the controversial agreement in the Palace’s Hall of Mirrors on 28 June, opening a new chapter in the war’s complicated legacy.

Keith Muchowski, an academic librarian, public historian, and professor at New York City College of Technology (CUNY) in Brooklyn, recently completed a manuscript about Civil War Era New York City. He blogs at thestrawfoot.com.

Our Monthly World War One Online Newsletter

Our May 2019 issue of the St. Mihiel Trip-Wire is now available at:

http://www.worldwar1.com/tripwire/smtw.htm

(Click Refresh/Reload if the May issue does not appear.)

American Troops Parading in Vladivostok, Russia

This month's issue contains material on:

1.  We have a number of articles and images on the Paris Peace Conference and Versailles.

2.  Behind the Literary Lines: Jame Joyce at War

3.  Film Classic: La Grande Illusion

4.  A Detail from the Pantheon de la Guerre

5.  Failed Field Marshal Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf

6. General Oskar Von Hutier and the Legend of Hutier Tactics

7. Cartoon: "Mars, God of War, Vanquished"

8. American Women Go to the Battlefields

9. Our usual features, including my Editor's Log in which I editorialize on the Peace Conference

10.  Ways to subscribe to Worldwar1.com's free publications

This Month's Recommended WWI Flick

Also, please note that our Musical CD and Over the Top Magazine Complete Collection DVD can be ordered through the website.  This is your opportunity to support our efforts in providing this otherwise free body of World War One material in the Trip-Wire and our daily blog Roads to the Great War.

Have a great springtime,

Mike and the Editorial Team

Remembering a Veteran: Major Carl A. (Tooey) Spatz, U.S. Air Service

General Carl A. Spaatz was the first chief of staff of the U.S. Air Force, Washington, D.C.  He started his career in 1914 as an infantryman, but transferred quickly to the budding army air operation — just in time to serve in the Great War.

The general was born in 1891, in Boyertown, Pa. In 1910, he was appointed to the U.S. Military Academy. He graduated June 12, 1914, and was commissioned a second lieutenant of Infantry. He served with the 25th United States Infantry at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii, from Oct. 4, 1914, to Oct. 13, 1915, when he was detailed as a student in the Aviation School at San Diego, Calif., until May 15, 1916. 

In June 1916, General Spaatz was assigned at Columbus, N.M., and served with the First Aero Squadron under Gen. John J. Pershing in the Punitive Expedition into Mexico. He was promoted to first lieutenant July 1, 1916, in May 1917 joined the Third Aero Squadron in San Antonio, Texas, and in the same month was promoted to captain. 

General Spaatz went to France with the American Expeditionary Forces in command of the 31st Aero Squadron and, after 15 November 1917, served in the American Aviation School at Issoudun continuously, except for one month at the British Front, until 30 August 1918. In this period, he received a temporary promotion to major. 

He joined the Second Pursuit Group in September 1918, as pursuit pilot in the Thirteenth Squadron, and was promoted to flight leader. He was officially credited with shooting down three Fokker planes, and received the Distinguished Service Cross. In 1919 he served in California and Texas and became assistant department air service officer for the Western Department in July 1919. He reverted to his permanent rank of captain on 27 February 1920 but was promoted to major on 1 July 1920. Spaatz became a brilliant innovator between the wars, commanded strategic bombers in two WWII theaters, and eventually earning the post of first chief of staff of the U.S. Air Force.

The Battle of Mont St. Quentin-Peronne, 1918,

By Michele Bomford

Big Sky Publishing, 2015
Peter L. Belmonte, Reviewer

Australian Troops Approach the Crest of Mont St. Quentin

Lost between what many consider the turning point of the war, the Second Battle of the Marne in July 1918, and the start of Marshal Ferdinand Foch's big push beginning with the American attack in the Meuse-Argonne in late September, is the Australian attack on Mont St. Quentin-Peronne on the Somme river in late August to early September. Bracketed as it was by French, American, and British successes in July and August, and the start of the final push, it's easy to understand why the relatively small-scale offensive has not been given much attention. Australian historian Michele Bomford handily rectifies that situation with this fine book, a revision and expansion of her previous work, and a part of the Australian Army Campaign Series, published by the Australian Army History Unit in Canberra.

Bomford covers in detail the series of attacks by the Australian Corps against the German positions in the Mont St. Quentin-Peronne area from about 30 August through 5 September. The author rightly states that by this time the nature of the war had changed. The Allies were now on the offensive, and "open warfare" was to be the order of the day. This represented a departure from the standard practice of Lieutenant General Sir John Monash's Australian Corps. This would not be a "set-piece battle devised after days or perhaps weeks of meticulous planning and which utilized every available mechanical resource then available to the Allies on the Western Front" (p. vi). Rather, this was to be a mobile, free-flowing series of quick attacks.

Monument to the Australian 2nd Division on  Mont St. Quentin

This book can be considered a primer on the Australian military in 1918. The author assesses Australian command and staff structure and concludes that by August 1918 it was operating at peak efficiency. Australian tactics had evolved to better operate in a mobile warfare environment. Bomford includes full-page "side bars" of weapons including rifles, bayonets, machine guns, hand grenades, mortars, artillery pieces, and airplanes. She also emphasizes the accomplishments of junior officers and enlisted men, rightly giving them credit for initiative and perseverance. Accordingly, the author records specific acts that earned men the Victoria Cross, the United Kingdom's highest award for battlefield bravery. Many men are highlighted in sidebars. Bomford also provides a brief but interesting analysis of how British commanders viewed this battle and its place in the larger events of August and September 1918.

It is interesting to note that even at this late stage in the war the Australians experienced some of the same problems that the Americans, comparative newcomers, experienced. Poor command and control, insufficient and often ineffective artillery support, tactics issues, and out of touch commanders, all plagued the Australians to varying degrees during these battles, yet Bomford retains the proper perspective and does not indulge in unrealistic criticism. Frankly, American historians can learn a lesson from this author's circumspection and understanding of the problems that confronted Great War commanders.

Those who appreciate good maps in military history books will be absolutely delighted with this book. Several large-scale maps highlight the action and make the narrative easy to visualize. The only real drawback to this book is its lack of end notes. Usually, but not always, a reader can easily determine the origin of a quotation in the text. Those who like to read about small-unit actions will enjoy this book that often covers the battle, fought by an entire corps, at the battalion level. This book is highly recommended as an important and readable addition to World War I historiography; it well illustrates a battle that could be considered comparatively small but important.

Peter L. Belmonte

Ireland's First World War Veterans: Shunned, Ostracized, Murdered

A Battalion of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers Stands Inspection in France

Over 200,000 Irishmen served in the British Army in the war. Ex-British servicemen and their dependents constituted half a million people in the Republic of Ireland, a State of just 3.3 million. For the Irish who returned home, their fate was compounded by the political situation. These men were shunned, ostracized from Irish society and in many cases murdered by the IRA, but that is only part of the story. The fate of ex-British servicemen after the war has been the subject of fierce debate. Approximately 120 were killed during the War of Independence and Civil War. Were they killed because of their service in the first World War?

The historian Peter Hart, in his book The IRA and its Enemies, suggested as much. Paul Taylor, the recent author of the book Heroes or Traitors? Experiences of Southern Irish Soldiers Returning from the Great War, 1919–39, maintains instead that they were targeted for being loyalists rather than ex-British servicemen.

Dublin Armistice Day, 1924
A Celtic Cross War Memorial to Be Sent to France Is Dedicated

Yet, other First World War veterans went straight into the Irish Volunteers/IRA after returning from the front, taking up arms against the army they had fought for. The best known of these was Tom Barry, mastermind of the Kilmichael Ambush in Co Cork in 1920. According to historian Stephen O’Connor, 226 members of the British forces served in the IRA during the War of Independence. More significantly, O’Connor estimates, at least 24 had senior positions and seven commanded brigades. O’Connor concludes: “Ex-servicemen had a disproportionate impact on the IRA’s campaign in comparison to their actual numbers in the movement.”

Source: The Irish Times, 10 November 2018

The French-Kitchener Meeting of 1 September 1914

Sir John French and the Earl Kitchener

One of the most momentous meetings of the Great War occurred just before the Battle of the Marne and may have been utterly essential for its success.  The key participants were two British field marshals. The BEF commander, Field Marshal Sir John French, concerned at heavy British losses at the Battle of Le Cateau, was considering withdrawing his forces from the Allied line. By 31 August 1914 Joffre, President Poincaré (relayed via Bertie, the British Ambassador) and Minister of War Field Marshal Herbert Horatio Kitchener (1st Earl Kitchener of Khartoum) sent him messages urging him not to do so. Kitchener, authorized by a midnight meeting of whichever Cabinet ministers could be found, left for France for a meeting with Sir John on 1 September.

As the retreat from Mons had continued, Sir John French had slipped deeper and deeper into what certainly appears to have been  depression.  There is no doubt that he was mercurial,  and  exaggerated  casualty  figures  from  Le  Cateau  were  certainly worrisome.  His  orders  specified that although he was to cooperate with the French, he was not to put the B.E.F. at risk of destruction if he could possibly avoid doing so.  His trust in the French was shaken by what he regarded as a tendency to retreat without warning, thus leaving the flanks of the B.E.F. uncovered. His  command of the French language was not good and interviews with Allied commanders had not improved relations. Convinced  that  disaster  loomed,  he  resolved  to  remove  the B.E.F. from  the  battle  line  for  regrouping,  reinforcement,  and  resupply. The French, desperately trying to cobble together a resistance and desperate to organize a counter-thrust, were appalled. Sir John was unmoved and drove his men to the point that medical reports told of threads  in heavy knit socks having literally to be pulled from the flesh of wearers' feet. He  intended  to  move  the  B.E.F.  to  safety behind Paris.  The two best biographers of Sir John French are George Cassar and Richard Holmes, and although both show respect and sympathy for him, neither offers much defense beyond depression for his actions in the retreat from Mons.

The man who had to sort out the situation was Britain's best-known soldier at the beginning of World War I—Field Marshal Herbert Horatio Kitchener, who had been appointed Secretary of State for War  on 7 August  1914.  It was to him that Allied pleas for the B.E.F. to stand its ground went, and he was French's political boss.  His attitude about French was less than enthusiastic.  French  felt that Kitchener treated him virtually as a subordinate in the field and had ideas of taking command.  On  1 September,  Kitchener went to Paris and wearing his full field marshal's regalia, met with French and effectively ended the  retreat. French,  in  his  memoir of 1914  condemns  Kitchener  for undermining  his  authority  and  asserts  (French's  is  the  only  account  of  the conversation) that Kitchener actually approved of the retreat. Although French has some support, most of those who have discussed the situation have agreed that Kitchener was simply trying to put some starch into French and get the B.E.F.  back  into  the  battle. The result was that the B.E.F. reversed its direction and moved into the Battle of the Marne.

Sources: The Battles of the British Expeditionary Forces: 1914–1915, Fred R. van Hartesveldt; Wikipedia

World War I Battlefield Surgery: Outstanding Video from Britain's National Army Museum

Captured at Kut-al-Amara: A Letter from a Prisoner of War

Column of Prisoners Taken at Kut-al-Amara

The author of this letter, Captain Ian Martin, served as a doctor with the Indian Medical Service in the First World War and in late 1915 was based in the town of Kut-al-Amara, 100 miles south of Baghdad.

Early military successes in Mesopotamia had fostered a belief that Baghdad could be captured with relative ease, but Major General Charles Townshend’s 6th (Poona) Division of the Indian Army failed to seize the city from the Ottoman forces and retreated to Kut. The Turks besieged the town on 7 December 1915, and the blockade remained in place when Captain Martin began his letter dated 1 April 1916.

It is an occupation rather suited for All Fool’s Day to sit down to write letters when it is by no means certain that the said epistles will ever leave Kut… I have put off writing so long that I have reached the stage of being thoroughly bored with the siege and all that pertains to it. The four months of our investment are in retrospect like the troubled night of a fevered sleeper.

The beginning of the siege with its incessant rabble of musketry and crash of shells came as a douche of cold reality on our peaceful hospital. For at first we who had remained at Kut throughout the advance on Baghdad, the fight at Ctesiphon and the sullen retreat to the shelter of the river loop, had found it almost impossible to get hold of what really was happening. The arriving army, on the contrary, jaded and spiritless though it appeared to be, was yet more than awake to the true state of things. So Townshend and his men settled down in a methodical fashion to dig themselves in.

Two days after the last of the army had straggled in the first of the enemy shells began to arrive. Since then scarcely a day — I can recall none — has passed without several of these messengers of fear and hate. Every day the investing line crept closer; every day the bombardment of the town became heavier. Every night at dusk and each morning at dawn the crackle of musketry grew into a roar — continuous but varying curiously in intensity — it comes to the ear in regularly recurring waves of sound rather like the whirling of a gigantic policeman’s rattle, punctuated freely by the muffled boom of our field guns firing star shells.

Soldiers of the 6th Poona Division in Captivity

Finishing with an abrupt postscript scrawled in a shaky hand and dated 15 July 1916, Captain Martin was now a prisoner of the Turks.

The forebodings in the opening page of this letter have proved too horribly true. Here I am after much journeying and many tribulations sitting in my blanket shelter at (a camp whose name I forget) about three days march from Ras-al-Ain which is the southern terminus of the still incomplete Baghdad–Aleppo railway. At my feet runs a little muddy stream almost dry — around and upon my feet are myriad of insects — mostly biting flies, but including some thousands of ants, great and small — houseflies, big horseflies and several unknown and noxious small species. Overhead the Eastern Sun, smiting me through my thin blankets — which are disposed upon sticks about six inches above my head. I eat weird oriental food cooked in a fashion by my Indian orderly. But you must excuse me, for a gust has blown my shelter down! I shall resume another day…

Survivors of the Captivity on Their Way Home, 1919

The siege ended on 29 April with the surrender of the now starving British and Indian troops, after 147 days. Approximately 13,000 soldiers were captured and were to endure terrible conditions of deprivation as prisoners of war. 

Note: The Editor has been unable to discover whether Capt. Martin survived his captivity.

Source: The Telegraph, 1 February 2014

WWI: When the Wristwatch Routed the Pocket Watch

The wristwatch was invented by Patek Philippe at the end of the 19th century. It was, however, considered a woman's accessory. It was not until the beginning of the 20th century that the Brazilian inventor Alberto Santos-Dumont, who had difficulty checking the time while in his first aircraft (Dumont was working on the invention of the aeroplane), asked his friend Louis Cartier for a watch he could use more easily. Cartier gave him a leather-band wristwatch from which Dumont never separated. Being a popular figure in Paris, Cartier was soon able to sell these watches to other men. 

During the First World War, officers in all armies soon discovered that in battlefield situations, quickly glancing at a watch on their wrist was far more convenient than fumbling in their jacket pockets for an old-fashioned pocket watch. In addition, as increasing numbers of officers were killed in the early stages of the war, NCOs promoted to replace them often did not have pocket watches (traditionally a middle-class item out of the reach of ordinary working-class soldiers) and so relied on the army to provide them with timekeepers. 

As the scale of battles increased, artillery and infantry officers were required to synchronize watches in order to conduct attacks at precise moments, while artillery officers were in need of a large number of accurate timekeepers for range-finding and gunnery. Army contractors began to issue reliable, cheap, mass-produced wristwatches, which were ideal for these purposes. When the war ended, demobilized European and American officers were allowed to keep their wristwatches, helping to popularize the items among middle-class Western civilian culture. Today, many Westerners wear watches on their wrists, a direct result of the First World War.

Sources: Wikipedia,  The Answer Bag, WWI Centennial Commission

“WOODBINE WILLY” -- By David F. Beer

Before the First World War broke out, the Reverend Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy was a fairly obscure Church of England vicar—probably more notable for the rather magnificent name he bore than for much else. At the outbreak of war in 1914 he left his parish and volunteered as an army chaplain, serving in that position for the duration of the conflict.  In 1917 he was awarded the Military Cross at Messines Ridge after running into no-man's-land to help the wounded during an attack on the German front lines. 

He was a comforting and practical padre in the trenches and came to intimately know the futility and horror of battle and the strengths and fears of the fighting men. He accepted the soldiers as they were, and besides comforting and helping them when he could, he made it a point to have ample supplies of cigarettes on hand to generously dole out, especially to wounded soldiers. The brand of choice was Woodbines, one of the most common "fags" in England, and thus he acquired the nickname of "Woodbine Willy" on the Western Front.

Because of his war poems and the reputation he earned among the troops as a chaplain, we remember his wartime activities in those two contexts. He was above all an enthusiastic supporter of the common soldier. Many poems were written in a distinctly working-class dialect, as illustrated by some stanzas from “The Spirit”:

When the Boche has done your chum in,
And the sergeant's done the rum in,
And there ain't no rations comin',
Carry on.

When the world is red and reeking,
And the shrapnel shells are shrieking,
And your blood is slowly leaking,
Carry on.

When the broken battered trenches,
Are like the bloody butchers' benches,
And the air is thick with stenches,
Carry on….

Although this poem may sound jingoistic and Kiplingesque, there’s no question about its clarity and its catching rhythm reminiscent of a concert hall song. The realities of trench life are also prominent in the poem, just as they are reflected by the attitude of casual death in a much shorter poem, “The Sniper”:

There's a Jerry over there, Sarge !
Can't you see 'is big square 'ead ?
If 'e bobs it up again there,
I'll soon nail 'im - nail 'im dead.
Gimme up that pair o' glasses
And just fix that blinkin' sight,
Gawd ! that nearly almost got 'im,
There 'e is now - see ? 'Arf right.
If 'e moves again I'll get 'im,
Take these glasses 'ere and see,
What's that ? Got 'im through the 'ead, Sarge ?
Where's my blarsted cup o' tea ? 

Dialect isn’t necessary for Studdert Kennedy’s poetry to be effective, though, and most of his poems aren’t written in it. “War” is a short poem that looks at a broader situation than the trenches alone and makes its tragic point quite clearly:

There's a soul in the Eternal,
Standing stiff before the King.
There's a little English maiden
Sorrowing.
There's a proud and tearless woman,
Seeing pictures in the fire.
There's a broken battered body
On the wire. 

Similarly, his shortest poem, "A Scrap of Paper," carries a world of empathy:

Just a little scrap of paper

In a yellow envelope,

And the whole world is a ruin,

Even Hope.

It’s not surprising that as a clergyman Studdert Kennedy often worked Christian imagery and allusions into his war verse. Later he was to write prose works arguing the validity of Christianity after the horrors of the war, but at the front it was easier to simply see the sorrows of the suffering Christ, which he did successfully in a long poem, “Dead and Buried.” The first two stanzas make this painfully clear:

I have borne my cross through Flanders,

Through the broken heart of France,

I have borne it through the deserts of the East;

I have wandered, faint and longing,

Through the human host that, thronging,

Swarmed to glut their grinning idols with a feast.

I was crucified in Cambrai,

And again outside Bapaume;

I was scourged for miles along the Albert Road,

I was driven, pierced and bleeding,

With a million maggots feeding

On the body that I carried as my load.

Here as elsewhere in his poetry we see Christ as the soldier—the Christ-soldier if you will. What’s so impressive is that Studdert Kennedy never delivered a simplistic moralist theology in his verse (or indeed his sermons) as plenty of clergy at the time did. Much of his poetry is concerned not with religious questions but with very human ones. And he can also express his ultimate feelings:

Waste of Muscle, waste of Brain,
Waste of Patience, waste of Pain,
Waste of Manhood, waste of Health,
Waste of Beauty, waste of Wealth,
Waste of Blood, and waste of Tears,
Waste of Youth’s most precious years,
Waste of ways the saints have trod,
Waste of glory, waste of God, -
                   War!                           

Studdert Kennedy’s poems appeared in two collections, Rough Rhymes of a Padre (1918), and More Rough Rhymes (1919).  In 1927 all 105 poems were published as The Unutterable Beauty. Although these books were out of print for decades, they’re now available again as reprints and make for truly thoughtful and evocative reading. A biography, A Seeker After Truths: The Life and Times of G. A. Studdert Kennedy ('Woodbine Willie') 1883–1929, by Linda Parker, was published in 2018.

After the war, Woodbine Willy traded the trenches for the slums and worked, wrote, and preached tirelessly on behalf of the poorest of British society. His early death in 1929, reportedly from asthma and exhaustion, was lamented by countless ex-soldiers and others. At his funeral his coffin was covered in packages of Woodbines. 

An early version of this article appeared in the September 2013 issue of Over the Top Magazine.

Canada and the Battle of Vimy Ridge

Brereton Greenhous and Stephen J. Harris

Canadian Dept. of Supply and Services, 1992
James Patton, Reviewer

Canadian Soldiers View Petit Vimy Village from Atop the
 Secured Vimy Ridge

When I selected this book for review I was expecting to read a new look at an old subject written from a bold perspective by a couple of Oxonian or Cantabrigian revisionists. Was I ever surprised! What I received was written by two staff historians at the Canadian Department of National Defence, Directorate of History and Heritage (DHH), to recognize the 75th anniversary of the battle. It also turned out that the perspective isn't modern, refreshing, or revisionist, but it's decidedly Canadian. The authors acknowledge that their primary source was the official Canadian Expeditionary Force, 1914–1919, written under the direction of Col. G.W.I. Nicholson and published by the government in 1962.

Of particular note, Brereton "Ben" Greenhous (1929–2005) was born in the UK, served in the British Army, the Royal Malayan Police and the Canadian Army before earning a BA and an MA from Canadian universities. Although not of high pedigree, he was a serious historian. During his long career at the DHH he produced 11 books, collaborated on over 20 more and wrote 26 articles for the Canadian Encyclopedia, among others. His last work (2002) was The Making of Billy Bishop, a massively revisionist portrait of the Canadian VC holder and WWII air marshal. When promoting this work, Greenhous delivered this sound bite—"Billy Bishop was a very brave man and a very bold liar."

At the beginning of the book the authors cite the following quote from The Image of Confederation by the noted Canadian historian, academic and journalist F.H. Underhill (1889–1971)—"A nation is a body of people who have done great things together in the past and who expect to do great things together in the future."

The first 83 pages of the book deal with the formation of the Canadian Expeditionary Force (CEF), which made an indelible imprint on Canadian nation-building, especially among the Anglophones, by the intermingling of men from all parts of the country. Despite the incessant meddling of the politician Sir Sam Hughes, the Minister of Militias (who was finally sacked by Prime Minister Sir Robert Borden in November 1916), the CEF quickly became an effective force, then grew from one division to four, finally grouped as the Canadian Corps.

There was the heroism and distinguished service in engagements in the Ypres Salient, on the Somme in the latter stages of that offensive and then the Corps' first exclusive operation, a victory at Vimy Ridge, a sector of the line where the German defense had withstood two massive French assaults in 1915. There would be much more to come before the Armistice.

Canadians Experiencing Hot Coffee and Mud

The Corps meticulously planned and prepared for the Vimy Ridge assault. The authors point out that the Canadians had certain advantages when serving together:

British divisions were continually being shuffled about within their various corps formations for reasons of immediate military convenience… so there was no standardization or continuity in their armies above the divisional level. The four Canadian divisions … would be held together for the remainder of the war: and other things being equal, a corps consisting of divisions trained by different criteria to different standards was not as likely to do as well in battle as one with divisions boasting a common interpretation of doctrine and similar standards of training. Moreover, because Canadians were kept together their divisional and corps staffs came to know each other's strengths and weaknesses very well, and that made for better, more effective and more effort-free performance all around.

A series of trench raids, some large in scale, were staged by both sides in the early months of 1917. One of these, a two-battalion operation on 1 March against Hill 145 cost the attackers nearly 700 casualties (including both battalion commanders) for a net of 37 prisoners. Afterwards the Germans offered a truce to recover the dead and wounded from the battlefield, in defiance of standing orders issued by both sides, and on the morning of 3 March 1917, soldiers from both sides mingled in the no-man's-land for two hours. Capt. D.S. Elliott (temporarily commanding 73rd Battalion CEF) found himself in conversation with a Bavarian major educated in London who told Elliott "how [strange] it would be to go back to our different lines and pot at one another again." Elliott also wrote, "The whole affair seemed so queer, standing upright out there in broad daylight, without a shot being fired, that it seemed to most of us like a dream."

Inspecting a German Bunker on Vimy Ridge

Vimy Ridge was one of the last old school offensives launched by the British, an assault on line "leaning on the barrage," but with one important difference. The General Orders stated as follows:

In the event of any division or brigade being held up, the units on the flanks will on no account check their advance, but will form defensive flanks in that direction and press forward themselves so as to envelop the strong point or centre of resistance which is preventing the advance. With this object in view reserves will be pushed in behind those portions of the line that are successful rather than those which are held up.

On Easter Monday, 1917, the execution of the plan was good, the soldiers tenacious; the Germans were surprised and outnumbered, their reserves were too far behind the front, and the Corps achieved a complete success, albeit at a high cost for a country the size of Canada. The whole Douai Plain lay below, but there were no reserves to exploit the gain. If only the French had done so well at the Chemin des Dames!

There are plenty of quotes from the journals and letters of soldiers, including in particular co-author Harris's grandfather, brick layer Pvt. Jack Harris, 4th Canadian Mounted Rifles (who weren't mounted). He served with the Canadian Corps from the Somme to the finish and died in 1972. Personal touches were added by these sources, including detail about casualties, terrain conditions, and the weather.

Canada and the Battle of Vimy Ridge is not as much about the battle or even the victory as it is about the emergence of Canada from the Imperial shadow to be a distinct nation, a people that had done great things, just as Underhill predicted. The book is a quick and worthwhile read, if only for the photographs and the aforementioned map. It's a 196-page coffee table book, with ten blank pages at the end, perhaps for writing notes? There are over 125 photographs, most of which I've never seen before, and an absolutely incredible centerfold-style map drawn by a government cartographer. There was only one printing, and the copy that I have was signed by both authors. Nevertheless, the work is still available (as a PDF) from the Canadian Government Publications Office HERE.

James Patton

What Was the Fokker Scourge?

Fokker's Eindecker E.III in Flight

Up to early 1915, aerial fights between aircraft usually involved rifles or pistols; occasionally, a machine gun was fired by the observer. The challenge of fixing a forward-facing machine gun able to fire without damaging the propeller on tractor-configured aircraft (i.e. engine and propeller in front) proved difficult.

All the major combatants attempted to solve this problem. Captain Lanoe Hawker of the Royal Flying Corps fixed a Lewis machine gun to the struts of his Bristol Scout so that it fired obliquely away from the propeller. With this strange arrangement he managed to destroy or capture several aircraft, including two in one day, earning himself the first Victoria Cross for aerial combat and the distinction of being the first British ace (a pilot responsible for destroying more than five aircraft). The British got round the problem for a time by developing fighters with the pusher configuration. Meanwhile, Frenchman Roland Garros developed a deflector system in which the bullets glanced off metal plates and away from the propeller. Garros and his machine were captured and examined by the Germans in April. Dutch designer Anthony Fokker as a result produced a much better (and safer) solution, developing interrupter gear which synchronized the fire of the machine gun with the engine, allowing the bullets to pass between the blades safely.

Depiction of an Early Dogfight at New Zealand's Omaka
Aviation Heritage Centre
A Fokker E.III Monoplane Attacking a British Airco DH.2 biplane over the Western Front

From mid-1915, Fokker’s innovation gave the German Imperial Air Service a decisive edge in aerial combat. The Fokker Eindecker series of aircraft were unremarkable in terms of performance but were nevertheless the first true fighter aircraft. German pilots could use the aeroplane itself as a weapon, aiming the whole aircraft at the target. Operating individually or in small groups in the hands of skilled pilots such as Max Immelmann and Oswald Boelcke, Eindeckers were very effective against poorly armed French and British aircraft such as the BE.2 and Voisins. Allied air losses rose sharply between late 1915 and mid-1916, a period known as the "Fokker Scourge."  The Royal Flying Corps lost 120 aircraft in the second half of 1915 alone. There was little the Allies could do to match these first German aces, and sometimes a single reconnaissance aircraft had to be protected by many others to ensure a successful mission.

The Fokker Scourge was the first in a series of technological developments through which one side gained a temporary edge over the other in the air.

Sources:  NZ History; Wikipedia

The Liman von Sanders Affair

Liman von Sanders

The last great diplomatic crisis before the Great War took place in late 1913 and early 1914. It exacerbated German-Russian tensions and also stressed the emerging Triple Entente of Russia, Great Britain, and France. At the center of the brouhaha was a German general named Liman von Sanders, whose name was later attached to this "Affair."

After their dismal performance in the recent wars in the Balkans and Libya, the Young Turks controlling the Ottoman Empire went shopping for military expertise and decided that Germany offered the best model for their army. The appointment of von Sanders to lead a mission for upgrading the Turkish Army was announced in November 1913. His portfolio, however, went beyond advising and training. Part of his scope of duties was the command of a Turkish army corps in Constantinople. This triggered a ferocious response from the Russians, who a) had their eyes on the Straits for access to the Mediterranean, and were secretly considering military options for seizing them, and b) did not want the Germans to be gaining a military foothold and political influence in the "Sick Man of Europe." 

Russia decided to test its putative allies in Paris and London and asked them to join in energetic action against the German military mission. The British, though, found themselves somewhat embarrassed, since they had agreed to a similar role for the Turkish Navy. Additionally, both France and Britain did not want to risk war. Both governments stipulated diplomatic support only. 

Von Sanders Arrives in Constantinople, December 1913

By January—with the Russians gritting their teeth—a deal was brokered where General von Sanders's direct command of the army corps was taken away from him by kicking him upstairs to the office of Inspector General of the Turkish Army.

Immediately afterward, it seemed like the crisis had passed and that diplomatic methods had once again defused a potential war. Yet, the Kaiser and Tsar both believed they had once again been forced to back down. Also, France was compelled to spend much of early 1914 reassuring the Russians that they would be stalwart allies in any future confrontations, culminating with President Poincaré's fence-mending visit to Russia in the middle of the July Crisis. 

Sources: British Foreign Policy 1874-1914: The Role of India by Sneh Mahajan (Smuts 1918, Clavin 2013).

Remembering a Veteran: John F. Elkington of the Royal Warwickshires and 1er Régiment étranger d'infanterie

Contributed by James Patton

The Royal Warwickshire Regiment dated from 1674. Originally formed for service in the Netherlands, the regiment was nicknamed the "Dutch Guards" by King William III. They gained Royal status in 1832. The badge bears the image of a "Hart, Ducally Gorged and Chained," a symbol of the House of Lancaster. The record of their service reads like the history of the British Army for nearly 300 years. They raised 30 battalions in the Great War, including three "Birmingham Pals." The regiment was amalgamated in 1968, and their heritage is now with the Fusiliers. 

Lt. Col. John F. Elkington

The 1st Battalion of the regiment arrived in France in August 1914 under the command of Lt. Col. John F. Elkington. It was an experienced Regular battalion, and Lt. Bernard Montgomery was the adjutant.  They went into action at Le Cateau, taking heavy casualties. At the rear of the fallback, the remnant of this battalion, along with that of the 2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers, plus an assortment of unruly stragglers, found themselves in the Grande Place of St. Quentin. Rail transport had been promised there, but none was available. Having covered over 20 miles, the soldiers refused to walk any more. Further complicating the situation was the availability of alcohol. 

Elkington and the CO of the "Dubs," Lt. Col. Arthur Mainwaring (a noted cricket player of the 1890s), asked Mayor Arthur Gibert for help in organizing food, medical supplies, and transportation. But M. Gibert had heard the stories coming from Belgium and was terrified that the city would be destroyed by the Germans with great loss of life. He urged the British commanders to join him in surrendering. Having heard vague reports that German troops were encircling the city, and with their men in no condition either to fight or move on, the exhausted officers signed on to Gibert's surrender document. Elkington then left on a recce to find additional soldiers. Mainwaring incredibly ordered the men to stack their arms. 

However, before any Germans could be found to surrender to, a troop of the 4th Royal Irish Dragoon Guards came along. Their CO, Major GTM Bridges, recalled later: "The men in the square were so jaded it was pathetic to see them. If one only had a band, I thought! Why not? There was a toy shop handy, which provided my trumpeter and myself with a tin whistle and a drum, and we marched round the fountain, where the men were lying like the dead, playing the British Grenadiers and Tipperary and beating the drum like mad. They sat up and began to laugh and cheer." The Dragoons were eventually able to coax about 440 soldiers out of the city on a 24 hour slog to Noyon, another 20 miles, where trains were available. 

On 30 October Elkington and Mainwaring were "cashiered"—dismissed in disgrace. Mainwaring withdrew to private life in England, where he wrote a fussy memoir before his death in 1930; while Elkington, according to a friend, said "there is still the Foreign Legion," and he "set out to make good a name that he felt needed cleansing." 

And so the 1st Royal Warwicks soldiered on. Lt. Montgomery didn't spend the war in a POW camp, but was wounded on 13 October, and by Christmas the battalion was ineffective. 

On 28 September 1915, the 1er RM/2eme RE attacked at Navarin Farm. Among the men of Co. B-3 was Soldat 2nd Cl. Elkington, who had already distinguished himself at Hill 119. As leaders fell, he took charge, attacking until the guns finally caught up with him. He lay in the bottom of a trench for 13 hours until stretcher bearers arrived. He spent nearly a year in hospitals and endured eight surgical procedures. His citation for the action reads: 

The Medaille Militaire and the Croix de Guerre avec Palme are conferred upon No. 29274 Legionaire John Ford Elkington of the First Foreign Regiment. Although being Fifty years old, he has given proof during the campaign of remarkable courage and ardour, setting everyone the best possible example. He was gravely wounded on 28 September 1915 rushing forward to assault enemy trenches. He has lost the use of his right leg.

The Regimental Badges Worn by Elkington:
Warwickshires and French Foreign Legion

On 7 September 1916 at the request of Lt. Gen. Hunter-Weston, Elkington was restored to his regiment, rank, seniorities, and awards. In October he was received by the King, who pinned on him a brand-new DSO. Deemed unfit for service, Elkington retired to his family's house in Berkshire and became active in local affairs. It was reported that he never wore any of his medals. He died in 1944, and two years later a stained-glass window honoring him (and his younger son, lost in the Western Desert) was dedicated by none other than Field Marshal Viscount Montgomery of Alamein, who said on the occasion "he made good more than he lost."