Night Attacks

Before an attack the chaplain usually left his vehicle and batman-driver at B Echelon and climbed on to the doctor's truck, where room was found for his blankets, spade, and haversack. Most of the Division's attacks took place at night and followed a well-defined pattern. First the rifle companies advanced and captured the position; a success signal would then be fired and the supporting arms moved forward, the doctor's 3-ton lorry among them. On arrival at the new Battalion Headquarters, the Regimental Sergeant-Major would lead the doctor to a place suitable for his aid post, where probably some wounded already awaited treatment. The chaplain would help to unpack the medical supplies and would then talk to the wounded before setting out on a short tour of the new positions.

The main impressions of a night attack were always the same. They began with a period of waiting for zero hour—a period of tension, nervous irritability, and last-minute preparations. Then the riflemen, with fixed bayonets, disappeared into the dark, while the infantry supporting arms lay in their trenches waiting for the success signal. Noise of shells, small-arms fire, and distant shouting would be heard, and bright flashes and fires seen. Presently one or two wounded would arrive back, usually with completely false stories of failure and calamity.

When the supporting arms reached the new positions they found a scene of intense activity and confusion. A group of prisoners crouching disconsolately in some hollow sheltering from the fire of their own troops; the Colonel speaking on the telephone with Brigade Headquarters or sending messages to his own company commanders; the signallers running out wire in every direction; the machine gunners and anti-tank gunners digging gunpits.

After seeing the wounded sent back to the Advanced Dressing Station the chaplain would set out on a trip round the company areas. The time would be about midnight; often a bright moon page 59 lit the scene. Here and there a line of slow-moving white dots would signify tracer bullets from enemy machine guns, while from close at hand came the explosion of mortar bombs. The boom of our own field guns in the rear would be followed by the scream of their shells as they passed overhead for the target just a few hundred yards away. It was an eerie walk, and it was obviously important that it be made in the right direction and not too far.

Presently the chaplain would hear the unmistakable sound of New Zealand voices and see a number of figures ahead. He would find the company commander absent-mindedly giving small and unimportant instructions while he concentrated on making sure that his company was in touch with the other companies on either flank. The platoon commanders could be heard urging their men to get their defences dug and their weapons into position. But the men were disinclined for work. It was as though they had just finished playing in an exciting football match. They were tired and excited; they wanted to stand around and discuss the attack. Their first fears had passed, but their new positions, perhaps only several hundred yards farther forward than the previous ones, seemed strange, exposed, and dangerous. And in addition there was one other powerful emotion: nearly all of them wanted to have a quiet look around for some loot in the abandoned enemy trenches.

Out of the gloom a voice and figure would appear. ‘How are you, chaps?’ it might say, and one of the soldiers would suddenly exclaim, ‘Why, it's the old Padre!’ and they would stop for a moment and talk. The chaplain could feel the sense of strain and weariness in their quick, nervous speaking, and tried with calm and friendly talk to relax the tension for a moment. Then he would probably hand round some cigarettes or chocolate and move on to the next group.

Arriving, after about an hour, back at Battalion Headquarters, he would dig a trench and, in spite of the noise and discomfort, would fall asleep immediately. Just before dropping off to sleep he would often see the Colonel setting out on his tour round the companies, a tour which took much longer than the chaplain's and was not necessarily his last duty for the night. Infantry colonels had to work hard.

Early next morning the whole scene looked different; the excite- page 60 ments and horror of the previous night would appear at first to have been nothing more than a nightmare. Battalion Headquarters was now completely organised with a telephone line out to each company and one back to Brigade Headquarters. Before daylight the cooks' trucks would come up from B Echelon with a hot breakfast and fresh information about the attack.