BX July 14, 1915
Major M.A. Colquhoun Has Been Recommended for Colonelcy – Interesting Newsy-Letter From Lieut. Harris L. Walsh, Formerly on the Expositor Staff and Now With the 36th Battalion C.E.F., Encamped Among 50,000 Canadian Troops at Shorncliffe, England – Uproarious Demonstration Greeted Voyagers as the “Corsican” Steamed Into Plymouth Harbor – Local Sergeant Promoted
That Major M.A. Colquhoun of this city, now commanding the 4th Battalion, C.E.F., in France, has been recommended for a colonelcy, is one of the items of particular interest to Brantfordites in a letter received by The Expositor from Lieut. Harris L. Walsh, now with the 36th Battalion, C.E.F. (Colonel Ashton’s command), in Shorncliffe, Eng. There they are receiving the final touches to their training before going on active service. The letter reads:
July 1, 1915
Risborough Barracks,
Shorncliffe,
Dear Expositor,
The Brantford Battalion, the 36th, C.E.F. – without incident of note outside of splendid demonstrations going and coming, and a splendid trip across – is now in its last stage of camp life and training before departing for the completion of the great objective of the Empire in whatever part of the world the regiment may be called. Niagara-on-the-Lake, Plymouth, Southwest London and every place intermediate where the men of Col. Ashton’s regiment appeared gave demonstrations of loyalty and cheer to the boys in khaki which will live always in their memory.
At Plymouth Hoe
As the steamer Corsican passed slowly amid innumerable naval craft from Plymouth Sound into the recesses of Plymouth Hoe, the whole city seemed to open its doors, filling the streets on one side with women, children and men, the women waving their aprons and everyone cheering madly the Canadians. On the other side were the naval training ships with their thousands of sturdy youngsters yelling and cheering as only Britishers can. The 36th band played “O Canada” and other airs, and the scene was hard to realize or appreciate. There were officers and men who could only stand mute, their eyes filling and their hearts filled, and filled deeply, too, with a sense of stern duty and lofty patriotism.
From The Ship
First were seen the beautiful hills of Devonshire and then was witnessed what stood behind these shores of freedom.
Submarines
All the world has heard of submarines, but the submarine war is not bothering England, at least not military or naval England. To the unprotected, the hapless fishing craft, the unarmed hospital ship or the ordinary sailing craft there is some occasion to worry, but anything with a gun on it, except under special circumstances, will scarcely be a victim of any German submarine. The unter vater love a British torpedo boat like a rat loves a terrier. In all shipping circles in England it is known that the submarines are taking no chances on boats that are armed, but quickly dive under water once they are sighted. In Canada it is a matter of pride and wonderment that no troop ship with British soldiers has yet been torpedoed by German submarines. It is not seemly to boast, but the present confidence of those at present be continued in Britain’s ability to guard the safety of her ships on all the high seas. How she does it is a matter for history after the war.
Great Workers
The Corsican was unloaded Tuesday…. This baggage had to be taken from the lowest depths of the Corsican, loaded on another boat of lighter draft, unloaded again at the docks then reloaded on the train. The train was off for Shorncliffe at 5.15 p.m. and arrived after a nine hour ride. The luggage men from Brantford were on duty 24 hours straight, and enjoyed a well earned rest next day.
Camp in General
By way of welcome to the Canadians on Wednesday the camp, an especially pretty spot overlooking the sea, got two fine deluges from the weather man. “Hover ‘one” twitted the ultra-Canadians of those Canadians returning after an absence of a few years only. There are, it is said, 50,000 Canadians now here. Col. Howard has extended an invitation to all Brantford officers to visit him. Major Newman and Lieut. Geo. Cockshutt with the other Brantford boys of the 19th Battalion are close by the 36th and in fine shape. Sergt. Dockray, Bugler Rolands and other wounded are here recovering rapidly from Langemarck. Good news also comes from France that Capt. Colquhoun has been recommended for the colonelcy of the Fourth Battalion while Lieut. Fred Miller, now Capt. Miller, is adjutant of the battalion. These promotions must be a matter of pride to Brantford.
Some Promotions
In the 36th, orders recently issued permanent appointments of N.C.O.’s were made. Sergt. Foyle was made senior sergeant and Sergeant Bellingham next. They belong to Nos. 4 and 3 platoons respectively, both of whom hail from the Dufferin Rifles. The leading corporal is Corp. E. Roberts, and the leading Lance Corporal, S. Pizzey, both from No. 4 platoon under Lieut. Walsh. Sergt. Foyle is thus due for the first sergeant majorship, and Corp. Roberts for the first sergeantcy open.
Discipline
The word discipline may have a stern sound to the layman, but to the soldier it spells efficiency with large letters. From the very first Lieut.-Col. Ashton has insisted upon most rigid discipline in all ranks. There will be no rumblings over the sea about any laxity in this regard in the 36th Battalion. That was attended to in Canada in due time, and a parade to the orderly room is the one parade of all that men are advised and advised sternly to be absent from. Evidently the 36th like all other battalions is here for a protracted stay, before getting to France.
Just now it is a matter of fitness and getting there. The battalion has not been tried out as yet in front of British officers, but all ranks are keen for the ‘once-over’ or the inspection.
Harris L. Walsh
In an appended postscript Lance-Corporal Little states that A. Michie, another Brantford boy has not yet been heard of and he believes he must have been killed. W. Laidlaw is wounded, he reports. He believes the war will be over this year.
BX December 24, 1915
November 29, 1915
West Sandling Camp
36th Battalion
The Expositor,
Brantford, Canada
My message home for Christmas, good luck to all our pals who are trying the fortunes of war for the first time in their lives. They will have their hardships, their temptations away from the environment of home, but they will come through. Let no one doubt that.
Yours sincerely
H.L. Walsh
BX February 26, 1916
Was Blown Out of Trench by Shell – Sergt. Fred Hetherington Had a Narrow Escape From Death
Sergt. Fred Hetherington, recently reported wounded, had a very narrow escape from death being blown out of a trench by a German shell. So writes Lieut. Harris L. Walsh, formerly on The Expositor staff, from the front line trenches in a letter to a friend. He writes:
Received your kind letter the other night in the trenches. At present we are now on our usual four day rest in billets. Our last trip was the most “doing” of any yet for me, as Fritz took particular pains to give my platoon a shelling on two consecutive days. There was an entire lack of neighborly feeling because we have a trench mortar regarded as a real nuisance by the enemy. Hence friction ensued.
I am sorry to report that Sergt. Fred Hetherington, my platoon sergeant, was blown out of a dugout, but he landed right side up, with no other injuries than those of shock. Despite the fact that he did not want to report to the M.O., I convinced him he should do so. He is now in the hospital and should be O.K. in a short time. He had a close call as well as a hard smash. “Fred” is a well-known Brantford indoor ball player.
Col. Colquhoun and Brantford officers and men are going along well. The colonel wished particularly to be remembered to you.
With very kind regards,
H.L. Walsh
BX March 17, 1916
“Come Along Boys the Water’s Fine” – The First Four Days of French Warfare as Seen by Brantford Man – A Great Life – Service in Khaki is a Wonderful Experience – The “Nuts” Have Made a Reputation, And All Are Needed at the Front
February 25, 1916
Dans Les Tranchees
Whenever I get up here on the odd side of “No Man’s Land” I feel like writing home. In billets, I generally find I have developed writer’s cramp, but up here there is so much to keep a fellow awake and alive, also so much time between odd jobs, that one feels constrained to write by way of distraction. We have been in the trenches for the first 24 hours of our regular tour of duty. This is the first real Canadian weather we have had. It is cold, and the ground has just a rabbit-hunting covering of snow. We break ice in the morning in the various shell holes for our ablutions, and believe me it is very refreshing after a night of anxious waiting and watching.
You know and we know that the Huns have gas; also that it takes a favorable wind for the blooming old gas to have any effect. Well, Fritz has had the wind with him recently, and we have had to be wide awake. And when we are on our rounds we have to watch every man to see that he is not napping. Smoke helmets, of course, are always on. It is quite a trial both for officers and men, and when the people at home wonder what we do, why we are not advancing, they must remember that we are simply holding, and that every tour of the trenches is a battle in itself and deserving of a separate ribbon. Vigilance always, and “making assurance doubly sure,” to use a favorite expression.
Barring the element of surprise no one cares a hang now for German gas. “Let them come on” is often heard among rank and file, who have every confidence that the Huns cannot penetrate our line.
Days of Strafe
We have our days of “Strafe” quite regularly, rifle grenades and whizz bangs. They take their toll, but our retaliation, sometimes three and sometimes fifteen to one, must also mean something. We own “No Man’s Land.” German patrols are seldom seen at night and if they are beat a hasty retreat. At any part of the long line they might all of a sudden overwhelm us, but nobody believes it here on the spot. You have heard of the cheerful Tommy, of the grouchy, grumbling Tommy, they are both the same. Give these lads something to do; give them a fight, and they’ll show all that is true of the breed. Who can blame them for the daily grouch over a routine existence of hardship and hard living? We are all living a tough life and trench living saps our good condition. Let the boys at home remember that fitness or unfitness will make or mar them as soldiers of the Empire.
To Those On the Way
From the cold dugout, rat ridden and with vermin, too, I send a message of cheer to those who are coming. Let no one hesitate – we need men, young men, the jaunty chaps who can pick out the best looking girls at our summer band socials. In England, they call these chaps the “nuts,” but the “nuts” have made good abundantly. They have won Victoria Crosses. Our Canadian Brantford “nuts” can do the same thing. I am sorry I cannot say in this letter what I would like to. I will say again we need the men, and we must have them. For anyone who pulls through in France or Belgium, it’s a great life, a wonderful experience, and when at some future time the question is asked, “What did my daddy do in the Great War?” a proud answer can be given. I can think of no greater appeal than that, either to the unmarried or married man. Come along in, boys, the water’s fine.
Yours Sincerely
H.L.W.
BX June 20, 1916
Is Doing Well
That there is no case for anxiety in the condition of Lt. Harris L. Walsh, recently reported wounded at the front, is the reassuring cable received in the city from Mr. Lloyd Harris. The cable was sent by Mr. Harris to his office here. In it he states that he had seen Lt. Walsh and that he was doing well and there was no need for anxiety.
BX August 15, 1916
Graphic Letter From Harris L. Walsh Who Has Recently Passed Through an Operation, and is Off the Fighting Line – Third Battle of Ypres – War is No Joke – What the Canadian “Tommy” is Like
Lieut. Harris Walsh, who is now in a hospital at Ramsgate, Kent, Eng., writes a most entertaining letter to a friend in Brantford, in the course of which he tells of an operation he has recently undergone. The letter is as follows:
July 31, 1916
Granville Special Hospital,
Ramsgate, Kent
Dear Friend,
I have recently been a poor correspondent because the surgical men have had something hanging over my head for some time, and now that they have got it “off their chest,” so to speak, I might loosen up a little and let you know what’s what. I was operated upon last Thursday, as the puncture which Fritz left in my right arm as a result of the ration of shrapnel he gave me, June 13, was not designed to close in without impairing, possibly permanently, the use of my digits and forearm. Accordingly I was carved up, skin-grafted, stitched up and again placed at the tender mercy of real Canadian nurses. When I woke up I had fought the third battle of Ypres all over again. Needless to say I am doing well.
It is a glorious thing, as the saying goes, to shed blood for one’s country, but I liken getting hit by shrapnel in a big show to a cross between getting the concentrated kick from 12 mules simultaneously and being in the cellar when the gas explodes. Adding to this, the knowledge that your neighbor’s cellar, and your neighbor’s, neighbor’s cellar, and so on ad infin, are exploding or going to explode, one might get a picture of the last half hour before the attack, or what is known in military parlance as the final artillery preparation. It is in this last half hour that Fritz has fully made up his mind you are coming over after him, and of course, what is often mentioned in Berlin communiqués as “our curtain of fire” is thrown at you where you sit, waiting for the minute to jump over. With our artillery and Frit’s official “curtain” it is Hell cut loose. It was during this loosening up process that your humble servant was favored in the early morning of June 13 with a shrapnel wound which still renders participation in the conflict a matter only of hospital diet.
The Third Battle of Ypres
The battle is now known as the third battle of Ypres, covering the ground skirting left to right of Hill 60, where Generals Mercer and Williams were lost, and where many of us fear Lieut. Harvey Cockshutt went down on June 2. The Boche had, besides blowing a mine that day, put over a terrific bombardment, and it fell largely on the C.M.R.’s to hold. It was a fierce pluck which enabled a retirement and a reconsolidation a short way back, but the positions lost had to be retaken, they were on the morning of June 13, on a frontage of 1,500 yards. The original line was restored and still stands. Ypres, the Canadian monument in Flanders, still remains British.
Beyond Description
Reverting to the last half hour. It is beyond description. I have searched the screed of the best of the present continental scribes for something which seems suitable wherewith to describe a real bombardment. I have failed to find it. All I can say is that Bertha Von Krupp just threw everything she had at us, and she wasn’t a bit particular where she threw it. Our own artillery, everything we had in the blessed old Ypres salient, was not outdone, however. For miles the sky was a sunset red, and all this in a blinding rainstorm, 12.30 a.m. It was not permitted me to go over and see the wreck and ruin caused because Fritz, or rather Bertha Krupp, spared me. The boys who did, however, and who joined me later in the hospital train agreed that there had been nothing like what our guns had done just previously to, and on that fateful morning of June 13. A hundred prisoners whom I saw at the clearing station in the early dawn looked the part as well. They were Wurttenbergers but the Duke would have to give them more than the “once over” to recognize his pets.
The Canadian Tommy
It was the second real show I had been in, in my six months, a period largely filled in with trench routine, working parties at night, inspections in billets and route marches. It is here I want to speak of the Canadian Tommy. Don’t imagine I am going to draw a picture of the cheerful ever-smiling, laughing, whistling Jimmy! The Canadian Tommy is no such being. You’ll find him one of the best kickers you ever heard. Fed up with the war, well rather, when he is sitting round billets. Going up to the trenches tonight, fed up, yes? Coming out of the trenches for a six day rest, fed up, decidedly? “Orders in for an attack, we’re on the left of -----Company.” Is he fed up now? Don’t ask him, you don’t need to. Just watch how he is spending the last two or three hours, his rifle, his equipment, water bottle, rations, ammunition, bombs, even shovels and picks! Look at him after his N.C.O. about things! He is the busiest man in camp. Serious business of course, but Tommy Canuck has an interest in life at last; a real scrap on the horizon. All the time he’s wishing it will be a hand to hand affair, but he will be disappointed if it is only artillery. Stick it, of course, and take his chance! The indomitable spirit to get at them is there, however, showing all over. Hardships don’t count in the face of this. At other ordinary times he is the best little example of a grouch in the British army over and inconvenience. And there you have him! Our men are splendid, and everyone who has ever had a command will say the same thing.
War is no Joke
Still, war is no joke. It is just such a war, which is so terrible in its wastage, will rivet peace on the world for a century. The nearer one gets to the inner zone, the greater does the wastage seem.
Well, dear friend, you asked me for some impressions and I have given them. From where I sit I can see the Goodwin Sands at low tide. The commerce of the world still goes up here to the estuary of the Thames a few miles away. Two German aeroplanes flew around on Sunday and church-goers hurried home. Personally I felt too small a target for a bomb to hit, dropped from 6,000 to 7,000 feet in the heavens, so I was not concerned. They say, however, that some of these bombs do hit some times, but as a rule there is peace here for all the patients, outside of two perpetual motion music halls on the pier. The fourteenth performance today in the one under my window has started. Good night!
Yours
Harris L. Walsh,