22 August, 1914
THE FIRST SHOT FIRED AT MONS
It seemed rather odd that it was twenty-four years after the event that I was finally asked to tell about how I fired the first shot for the British Army in the Great War. Of course, when I did that I had not the slightest idea I was doing anything of the kind. However, it was officially proved to the satisfaction of those in a position to judge these things that I did have the distinction of firing the first of untold billions of shots that were discharged in the succeeding four years of terror and distress throughout the battlefields of the world.
The strange thing about the episode was, as far as I can remember and it seems as clear to me as if it took place last week, that I had not the slightest feeling of being in battle, not the remotest idea that I was taking a very active part as far as rifle fire was concerned in what was to be the greatest war of all time. It seemed to me like an ordinary action taking place on peace time manoeuvres, until the bullets started whizzing round me. My shot certainly brought down an enemy soldier, who was no target dummy.
My regiment, 4th Irish Dragoon Guards, had left Tidworth for Southampton, embarking at noon on 15 August, 1914, on HMT Winnfrian and disembarked at Boulogne the following day. After a few days camp we entrained and Haupont was reached by the 19th. We pushed forward, with no sign of the enemy. C Squadron, to which I belonged, was then detached from the regiment and sent forward on reconnaissance. The squadron moved forward to St. Denis, where we stayed the night, sending out patrols.
I need not say anything more of the cavalry advance to Mons, as that had nothing to do with the critical moment I am going to descrbe, but it so happened that on the morning of 22 August, 1914, when the countryside was flooded with the loveliest sunshine, its level rays making the haystacks in the spreading fields alongside the Mons-Charleroi road stand out boldly with their long black shadows to the west, that I, being a member of C Squadron, was waiting on the south-east of the road near to and almost within the shadow of the Chateau de Ghislain, under cover, when one of our scouts reported ‘enemy coming down main road’.
Major Bridges, DSO, who went on to become Lieutenant General Sir Thomas Bridges, gave the order:
‘4th Troop, dismount and prepare to give covering fire,’ he called. ‘1st, Troop, draw sabres and prepare to charge.’
I can recall no tremendous sense of the moment – of men about to engage in battle; or thrill of anticipation of an encounter at that moment in time. Or, indeed, anything that seemed more exciting than some peacetime exercise back in England.
Then I saw them, a troop of Uhlan coming down the road towards us at a leisurely pace. The officer in front was smoking a cigar. Anxiously we watched their every movement. Then suddenly they halted, as if they sensed something was amiss. They had seen us. They turned quickly about. Captain Hornby called out for permission to charge after them with the sabre troop. Permission was granted and down the road they galloped. My troop was ordered to follow on in support, and we galloped on through the little village of Casteau. Then it was we could see the 1st Troop using their swords and scattering the Uhlans left and right. We caught them up and Captain Hornby gave the order, ‘4th Troop, dismounted action’.
We found cover for our horses by the side of the chateau wall. Bullets were flying past us and all round us, and I was first into action. I could see a German cavalry officer some four hundred yards away astride his mount in full view of me, gesticulating to the left and to the right as he directed his dismounted men and issued orders for them to engage us.
Immediately I saw him I took aim, squeezed the trigger and almost instantly it seemed, he fell to the ground, wounded or killed. As far as I am aware it was never ascertained which.
That was the first shot that was fired by a rifle in the British Army in the Great War and I cannot repeat too often that, at the time, it seemed to me more like rifle practice on the plains of Salisbury. However, within a second or two, it all changed. From every direction, or so it seemed, the air above us was thick with rifle and machine-gun bullets. There was the whistling noise of them and the little flurries of hay which errupted like smoke as bullets tore through the stacks all around us. The straw offered meagre cover to the troops. At once all this was something very different from our days of peace-time soldiering.
Still, it was really astonishing how few were injured in this first affair of the cavalry. None of our men was hit by the enemy fire, which just shows you what a lot of bullets it takes to drop a man. That now historic moment over, and the job that we had been appointed to do discharged, our C Squadron patrol under Captain Hornby safely wthdrew to our position at the little village of Casteau, off the main road of Soignies. With us were five German prisoners captured in the first sabre charge of the war.