Tommy's Ark: Soldiers and Their Animals in the Great War. Richard Van Emden Read online

  Although a simple chronology is at the heart of this book, I have nevertheless sought to highlight a number of themes and ideas. For example, soldiers sometimes took animal life senselessly and then repented, reflecting often bitterly on their actions. They themselves drew the appropriate comment. On the spur of the moment, Private Thomas Hope killed a mole. ‘Poor little inoffensive mole, its life was as precious to it as mine is to me,’ he wrote, after ‘tapping’ the mole over the head with a stick. ‘I must be a bloodthirsty brute,’ he decided.

  Other stories are grouped together because dates and the passage of time are irrelevant. An interesting snapshot of one creature’s predicament in war can result, such as that of frogs: frogs squashed on the communication trench duckboards; frogs heard croaking in the night air as the guns temporarily fell silent; frogs gently carried out of harm’s way by a commanding officer, or eaten as a novelty.

  Wherever possible, I have tried to keep the stories broadly within the time frame in which they were written although, as with all anthologies, the stories are not necessarily chronologically sequential. Nevertheless, no memories of times before the soldiers concerned arrived in France or after they were removed from the fighting by injury are used. Likewise, references to animals and insects are aligned as closely as possible to the seasons in which they appear; it would not do to have bees or butterflies in winter.

  The quotations used are taken from various sources, primarily the Imperial War Museum, the Liddle Archive at Leeds University and archives housed in regimental museums. Other stories were taken from published books, many long out of print but full of relevant anecdotes. Especially productive was the little-accessed goldmine of officers’ memorial books, most published during or very shortly after the war. These were privately published in small numbers by grieving families who sought to come to terms with their loss by saving for posterity the letters sent home from France and Flanders.

  These letters and diaries, along with those of other officers fortunate enough to survive, are numerically out of proportion to those written by other ranks, at least in relation to their serving numbers – around one officer for every forty men served in a battalion. However, in the preparation of this book, seventy-four officers are cited, seventy-two other ranks, with officers’ quotes, on the whole, being the more substantial in literary quality and length. Literacy rates among pre-war soldiers were poor, much as they were among the civilian population that volunteered or were conscripted. This is especially clear when their writing skills are contrasted with those of the young university undergraduates who applied to serve in the officer corps. These young officers’ powers of description were often excellent, and furthermore they had more time and more opportunities to write. They worked in dugouts that were reasonably dry compared with frequently wet and windy trenches, and access to paper was easier for officers than for other ranks.

  Fortunately, where a quotation comes from is largely irrelevant. If an earwig happens to pass across the hand of an officer or other rank as he writes, the description is what is important; it does not affect the understanding of the war, how it was fought, how it was won, how that war is now judged and interpreted by historians. Everyman saw the weasel scampering along the trench parapet, the cow trapped in the barbed wire, the kitten stuck in the rubble of a house; it is just that not Everyman chose to make a physical note of the observation.

  During my research, many books were ‘mined’ by speed-reading the text looking for appropriate stories. This was an entirely scattergun approach, inevitably fruitless in many cases but productive in others, sometimes exceptionally so. It was a necessarily slow process. ‘Weasels’ or ‘sparrows’ were rarely logged as searchable words in an index even if the author had a particularly interesting story to recall. Some exceptional memoirs made almost no reference to wildlife, in part as a result of when they were written. A memoir produced fifty years after the event is unlikely to contain the minutiae of animal life, simply because such stories would inevitably remain unlogged in the mind whereas the loss of friends, or injuries, barrages, gas attacks and going over the top were seared into the consciousness. Letters written at the time were always a better source for ‘here and now’ stories.

  Most of the illustrations in this book come from the archives of the Imperial War Museum, and from friends within the Great War fraternity who have generously lent me images to reproduce here. All remaining photographs are taken from my own collection. Few have been published before. While gathering images for the plate sections, I was aware that many stories would be almost impossible to illustrate. Fishing by means of a hand grenade thrown into a lake or river appeared to be one such story. However, since the advent of online auction sites almost anything is obtainable with perseverance, and a recently acquired set of original photographs taken by an officer in France yielded the only example I have ever seen of a grenade-induced fountain of water. The original caption, ‘Obtaining a variety of food by bombing fish at Potijze!’, established the veracity of the image.

  As this book complements my previous work, The Soldier’s War, it seemed sensible to follow a broadly similar format. This, in effect, is the animals’ war. The book is divided into five chapters, each covering one year of the conflict and beginning with a short overview of the current military situation. This is followed by a description of how, each year, wildlife adapted itself within the zone of conflict and how soldiers’ perceptions of animals and wildlife changed. There are a few German photographs, reflecting the shared relationship to wildlife; indeed, there are several instances of animals, particularly dogs, crossing no-man’s-land to be looked after by both sides, as well as another occasion when both British and German soldiers shot at the same flock of geese flying overhead.

  The natural world in France and Belgium was not unlike that at home in Britain. Nevertheless, the copious horrors of war threw nature’s beauty and complexity into the sharpest relief imaginable and therefore it has its own unique validity. The soldiers who understood that stark contrast left records which, when collected and distilled, have given us an insight into the Great War that has not been explored before.

  A week since, I was lying out in no-man’s-land. A little German dog trotted up and licked my British face. I pulled his German ears and stroked his German back. He wagged his German tail. My little friend abolished no-man’s-land, and so in time can we.

  Lt Melville Hastings, killed in action, 3 October 1918

  1914

  The War in 1914

  By the standards of the Great War, the Battle of Mons was little more than a skirmish. The small Belgian town had, simply by chance, become the place where British forces, moving north-east from the Channel ports, met the German army marching south-west. In fact, it was one German army, one of three that had ignored Belgium’s sovereignty by using her territory as a back door to an invasion of northern France. It was partly to uphold the rule of international law that Britain had gone to war, or so it was claimed. However, in a series of secret pre-war agreements and informal understandings between the different European nations, Britain had privately agreed, in principle, to support France in a conflict against Germany. Germany was the rising European power with interests in Empire-building that threatened Britain’s long-term pre-eminence in Europe and her colonies.

  War between Britain and Germany had long been expected and it was perhaps the fulfilment of this ‘expectation’, rather than Belgian neutrality, that had excited Britain’s declaration of war in those first days of August. France had already declared war on Germany as a result of a military agreement she had with Russia. Russia, in turn, had supported Serbia when the ailing Austro-Hungarian Empire, backed by her ally, Germany, had threatened Serbia. It was all very complicated and stemmed back to the assassination in June 1914 of the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne by a young Serb nationalist – not that the British soldiers marching to Mons cared much about that. Germany required a short, sharp corrective to its international misbehaviou
r and these boys were going to hand it out in spades and be home for Christmas.

  The British Army was tiny by international standards as, traditionally, Britain had had the navy to protect her shores and overseas interests. Many British battalions were stationed overseas in countries such as India, so that the number of men available to go to the aid of France was initially just 80,000 men, collectively known as the British Expeditionary Force (BEF). On the morning of 23 August, forward elements of this small force had taken up positions alongside a canal that separated them, and the town of Mons, from the Germans. The fighting that took place there that day taught both sides a couple of swift lessons. The Germans received a rude awakening to the remarkable professionalism of the small British army. This army had been tuned to a level of efficiency most other countries, with their large conscript armies, could not hope to match. Equally, the British learnt that, no matter how good a professional soldier might be, vastly overwhelming numbers of enemy soldiers will, in the end, overwhelm. Appeals in Britain by the new Secretary of State for War, Lord Kitchener, for a civilian army were already under way when news of the Battle of Mons and the subsequent retreat reached the national press; the news stimulated the greatest surge in voluntary enlistment the country has ever known.

  The British retreat from Mons was a remarkable feat of arms. The British soldiers, a third of whom were reservists softened by civilian life, tramped as much as 175 miles in two weeks, carrying arms, clothing and equipment weighing 66lb. The weather was hot, rations were scant, supplies of drinking water were thin. At any time they could expect to halt and fight, then move on again. Sleep or rest were always at a premium. In the end the BEF escaped destruction by a narrow margin, helped in part by the failures of the enemy to press home their clear advantage.

  The retreat took the British Army close to Paris and beyond to the Marne where the rot was stopped and the German advance turned, with the aid of a new French army formed in the capital and driven to the front in taxis. The German lines of communication and supply were overextended, her men perhaps as exhausted as those they were chasing. In the end, the Germans were forced to fall back and dig in on the first high ground that could be defended, the Chemin des Dames. Stalemate. And so began a race for the coast as each side sought to gain an advantage by outflanking the other. The sand dunes on the edge of the coastal town of Nieuport in Belgium were reached in October by both sides, and the first tentative ‘front-line’ trench system began to emerge that would eventually stretch from this insignificant town all the way to the French Alps.

  Throughout October and November, the Germans threw battalion after battalion against British positions, first around the northern French town of La Bassée, then against forces positioned in a tight salient around the Belgian town of Ypres. Despite the Germans having the ascendancy in men and munitions, the British Army held their ground – just – and at great cost. The old regular army of which Britain had been so proud was badly shaken, many surviving battalions losing 80 or 90 per cent of their original strength. It was only the onset of winter that brought a close to major hostilities, while in Britain the training of the new civilian army continued apace.

  The Natural World in 1914

  The first weeks of the war were a time of rapid movement, of glorious withdrawal some might argue, others would say of an ignominious and chaotic retreat. This was a time when the cavalry was able to fulfil its new role, acting as a fast-moving screen to protect the infantry, a time of classic mounted charges and short, dismounted action. All light artillery, all limbers and wagons were pulled by horses or mules; it was, at least at this moment, an overwhelmingly equine war. For the men who took part, it was on these four-legged friends that their survival depended.

  This was not a time to take stock of the autumnal countryside but rather to survive punishing marches before eventually digging in and holding off the enemy’s best attempts to force a decisive victory within the year. As British soldiers marched first south towards Paris, then north-west in the direction of Ypres, they felt enormous sympathy for the local families driven from their homes. These civilians had their world stacked on top of a horse- or bullock-drawn cart; precious possessions were piled high on prams, or carried in shawls. Pets not already pressed into service, pulling or carrying, padded alongside their owners in the general tide of misery. It was open warfare where villages and farms were swept up briefly into the fighting and when livestock were abandoned to their fate. The soldiers pitied these animals almost as much as the civilians, for livestock were often left locked and unfed in sheds or abandoned to wander aimlessly. Cows were clearly distressed for want of being milked, dogs remained chained up to their kennels. Other animals, chickens, pigs and geese, were greedily spied by famished men for whom army rations in no way compensated for the energies they expended in marching, digging and fighting. These animals were seized and eaten, although a very few, usually abandoned dogs, were taken on as impromptu mascots.

  By the time the British Army had settled to the trench life more normally associated with the Great War, most wildlife had departed: dead, flown to sunnier climes or safely hibernating. There was not much to see and even less to worry about when the men, ill-equipped for that first winter, shivered and froze in their hastily dug ditches, feet stuck in cloying mud.

  The men of 1914 were far fewer in number than those who served in every other year of the war, less than 10 per cent of the numbers found serving on the Western Front two years later. The timescale was shorter too, just four and a half months, and most of this was autumn or winter. As a result, the variety of animals recorded is far smaller than in any other year. And there may have been another reason, too. The regular soldier, used to the more exotic wildlife of postings in Africa or on the North West Frontier, was perhaps unimpressed by the animals of northern France and Belgium and less inclined to write, as well as less capable of writing, the keen observational prose of his better-educated territorial and Kitchener counterpart, for whom war on the Western Front was such a novelty in the spring and summer of 1915.

  Soldiers’ Memories

  The speed at which the British Army mobilised on the outbreak of war was quite breathtaking. Within twenty-four hours of the order, reservists began to arrive at their depots to join units they had left as long as nine years before. These old soldiers would have to be kitted out; feet unused to brand new boots would have to be hardened for marching once more. However, the knowledge of soldiering had never left them and they slotted back into the old routine with serving soldiers as if they had never left. For those joining the Army Service Corps, the artillery and cavalry, quick reacquaintance with horses and mules was important; a good mutual understanding was always critical in times of war.

  In August 1914 the British Army had 25,000 serving horses and mules. However, many more would be needed to go overseas or to replace the inevitable casualties. The army paid an annual fee to civilians such as farmers and landowners, and to civilian businesses, for the right to call on their horses and mules in the event of war. Some of these were hunting horses required for the cavalry, others were light or heavy draught animals for limbers and guns. In the event, the government immediately ordered that another 140,000 were requisitioned and these were handed over or rounded up following 4 August.

  On 13 August, the first units of the BEF set sail for France. Horses and mules made up almost the entire contingent of animals taken overseas, although a number of other creatures, usually favoured dogs, were also stowed on board. Many of these were regimental mascots but only one animal would go on to receive formal recognition after the war and be awarded a medal for its service overseas, the coveted 1914 Star. Taffy the IV was the 2nd Welsh Regiment’s goat and he served with the regiment throughout the early campaigns before dying in January 1915.

  Trp. Benjamin Clouting, 4th (Royal Irish) Dragoon Guards

  Two days after the outbreak of war, I was detailed to travel with six other troopers and two veterinary officers to Birmin
gham’s R. White’s mineral water factory, commandeering heavy draught horses, not for us, but for the artillery and Army Service Corps. Our job was simply to wait around until the veterinary officers had passed each horse fit and healthy, and, once each was numbered, ride one and lead another to the local train station. These mammoth horses had never had anyone on their backs before and didn’t understand our spurs’ commands. Each time we dug them in, they stepped backwards as if to get away. We soon tumbled to the fact that if we wanted them to move we would have to give verbal commands. At the station a train was waiting, and once loaded, off it went.

  Cpl Robert Lloyd, 1st Life Guards

  Darkness had begun to set in while the horses were being run into the trucks. This proved to be an exciting job. Our regiment alone had six hundred to entrain, and they stood on a narrow platform waiting their turn. There was a line running behind them, on which trains kept continually passing, and it was a miracle nobody got dragged on to the rails and run over.

  It was here I first made the acquaintance of Herbert. He was the tallest horse in the unit, and he had a dislike amounting to violent hatred for trains, buses, steam-engines, and all huge things which moved mechanically and made strange noises in their insides. He absolutely refused to enter his truck, but there was no time for ceremony, so half a dozen hefty soldiers slipped a surcingle [band] round his hindquarters and gave him a lift. This decided him to make a plunge through the door of the truck, but being so tall his saddle caught in the roof, and he bounced back amongst us, more obstinate than ever. We then turned him round, removed his saddle, and backed him in without more ado.