Canadian Artillery loading an 18-pounder field gun
Canadian Artillery loading an 18-pounder field gun
SOON AFTER THE ALLIES LEFT THE BATTLEFIELDS of the Somme in November 1916, the Allied generals began to plan a new strategy. The war had been very costly during the last two years, but some believed that there were some positive signs. The Germans had finally failed in Verdun, and despite the cost, the British and French had seriously hurt the Germans at the Somme. Change and new strategies were required.
The three major military leaders felt that no one was taking the necessary strategic leadership. France had decided that General Nivelle’s assurances of victory, based on his success at Verdun, were more convincing than those of General Joffre, and he replaced him at the helm. Lloyd George was elected prime minister in Britain, and he promised to run a better war. Both Lloyd George and Germany’s Ludendorff insisted that victory could be achieved. Ludendorff despaired about those in Germany seeking peace.
Given the huge French losses in Verdun, the French were having problems defending their southern section of the Western Front, let alone attacking the enemy. In order for General Nivelle’s plan of ending the war in one stroke to be successful, it was necessary for the British and the French to operate a joint strategy. General Haig’s role was to distract the Germans from General Nivelle’s activities. In early 1917, the British pushed the Somme Front some five miles. They then followed with a well-rehearsed offensive near Arras. This was to include the conquest of Vimy Ridge. The Canadian Corps had not been involved in any major operations during that winter.
DESPITE EVERYTHING, Christmas and the New Year hadn’t been too bad at the reserve camp of Mont St Eloi. There was the usual exchange of good wishes and presents, in the presence of Princess Patricia of Connaught, the colonel-in-chief of the regiment. There were gala menus, parcels from home, cigarettes, a comedy evening, and on 1 January a grand revue.
Jean wrote on the 26th that he had had a quite busy Christmas, but brightened by some good meals, some friendly moments, all helped by the nurses’ efforts to liven up the hospital wards with decorations and concerts. Madame Ladouceur told us yesterday that her son had said that Jean had delivered a very successful speech at a banquet in his hospital on 1 January, given in honour of those boys leaving the hospital to go on active service.
Jacques Grellet had a sad Christmas in quarantine, while waiting to build roads near London to relieve the intense traffic congestion blocking the capital. We will no doubt know tomorrow how André spent his holidays. We are wondering who would have the influence to allow him to leave the kitchens of the soldiers’ mess. He is warm and sheltered, but for a soldier it’s not very ambitious. Of all of you, Jean seems to be the only one who attended a church service, I hope that the others will have sung a Christmas hymn silently within their heart or have found a few friends with whom to sing an old refrain.—(BB)
Les Colombettes, 28 January 1917
My dear boys,
On Wednesday I spoke at St Andrews in Westmount, tonight at the 1st Baptist, and tomorrow at the YWCA. It’s a little too much for one week, but the next one will be quieter. Jacques and I have begun to assemble a little war museum, which we are finding very interesting, and for which “contributions will be thankfully received.” Herewith the catalogue so far:
•Princess Patricia badge, sculpted by André and fixed on a red ribbon
•Piece of shell found in Alsace by Mr Roussel
•The point of a shell, sent by André
•Etienne’s identity badge
•Philippe’s Princess Patricia shoulder strap
•A button from a Brandenburg prisoner
•A piece of sandbag with authentic trench mud, from Philippe
•Dried flowers from the Front, sent by André and Camille
•Paper knife made from a shell casing from Tante Julia
•Woven article from a blind soldier, sent by Mr Cornu
Blanche
ON 5 JANUARY, Etienne finally left on his first leave, and arrived that Saturday evening in Paris, to spend ten lovely days in Neuilly under Oncle Charles and Tante Lucy’s welcoming roof. A few days later, Jean came to join him, and together the two brothers lunched here, and dined there, spending the evenings elsewhere, loving being together, and for the contact with Tante Julia and those cousins that the war had not dispersed. The service at the Neuilly church falling religiously the day after the arrival and the day before the departure: “How will the young man purify his path? By being careful in accordance with your word.”—(BB)
16 January 1917
My dear mother,
It was on Friday evening the 5th that I left the battery. At noon the next day I was lunching with Jean at the Hôtel de Boulogne, and was persuading him not to delay making a request to join me in Paris. That night I slept at the hotel in Boulogne and I arrived in a quiet and grey provincial like Paris on the 7th.
On Sunday Tante Lucy, cousin Idelette, and I went to the Trocadero to hear Vandervelde and Maeterlinck at a big rally protesting the deportations of Belgians to Germany. The oratory talent of one and the sense of humour of the other resonated in the great hall.
Monday there was a little invitation at Miss Wellington’s in honour of an airman that was leaving for the Front the next day, after several days’ leave.
On Wednesday evening, there was a Zeppelin alert. I saw the firemen zooming along the streets, ringing their alarm bells. All the lights were extinguished, and everyone was waiting for a bomb explosion from one moment to the next. One hour later, the bugle was heard to confirm that the danger had passed. The next day we heard that a projector had seen a strange cloud and that it was likely to have been that bomb, dropped from the supposed Zeppelin.
On Thursday we spent a lovely day with Tante Julia in Fontainebleau. Cousin Guy had no problem getting a day’s leave. He put on his blue uniform with red stripes and looked absolutely great. Military life seems to agree with him. He is a junior officer candidate, requiring day and night activity. After lunch, we did a long walk in the woods. The sun appeared, and the forest was superb. We went right up to the shooting range on a large plain surrounded by a pine forest, where we showed Tante Julia a few of the famous 75s practising. From there we returned to the station to catch our train.
I was forgetting to tell you that, the evening prior to my departure, I had the pleasant surprise of finding Jean at the Merles. I was hoping for that, but I didn’t dare to expect it. On Saturday, Jean and I went to see the “Bourgeois Gentilhomme.” That reminded us of those Wednesday evenings when Dad would read to us the poetry and prose of the great philosophers.
We have been talking about your trip here. You must come and spend a year in Europe, and it’s naturally to Paris that you should come. Dad could find thirty-six churches needing a pastor during the war. As for you, please don’t come to Paris to kill yourself with work for war charities, but I know you could find interesting and useful work. We could come to see you from time to time, whether to Boulogne or Paris,
Etienne
Les Colombettes, 4 February 1917
My dear boys,
Will this letter get through? Will the navigation continue courageously as before or are we for a while going to be separated from Europe? That’s what we are asking ourselves quite naturally the day after the too famous and too active Bernstorff has finally gotten his passports.* Naturally all thoughts turned towards Washington, as soon as we learned here the Germans’ intentions, and we have been in suspense for forty-eight hours, right up to the moment when the Standard appeared in the newsstands last night. And now, what will the future be? Could an intervention by the US precipitate the outcome, or will it simply be another complication?
The newspapers are announcing the probability of a major offensive with the Germans in your region. Mother is quite preoccupied, as you will no doubt understand. In the case that God preserves you or one of you is taken prisoner, take all possible precautions by having a belt with money hidden in it. You know better than us how to handle these painful eventualities. A guy called Palliser, who I think was your friend at the PPCLI, had a curious adventure in Germany. He must have been made prisoner during his first clash with the Germans. He was seriously wounded, and the parents were told that there was no hope of seeing him again. But it seems that he ran into some German civilians who sympathized, in view of his ability to speak their language. They took care of him, fed him, and when he was cured they arranged for him to escape across the Dutch border. He doesn’t understand himself how he could have had such luck. He now lives in Lachute.
Charles
* Count Bernstorff, German ambassador to Washington, announced unrestricted submarine warfare as of 1 February.
12th Brigade CFA, 17 January 1917
My dear Jean,
It’s been a week since I received your letter from the hospital in Wimereux. I presume that you are now out and that you are completely cured from your bout with the measles.
I have just spent another seven days in our section in the middle of the woods. I had, happily, an infantry officer nearby, and we exchanged visits to discuss the rumours. It was thus that he told me that his batman had the other day met the colonel’s batman, and that he had said that we had taken quite a bit of the second trenches not far from here. It was unfortunately only a rumour, but it had the same effect as some real news.
Etienne
My dear mother,
During the night the cold did its thing and created a thick sheet of black ice. On going out to do a tour of the guns, I slipped and hurt my knee. The doctor suggested that I rest the knee, and they sent me here, as I couldn’t do my turn in the trenches. It’s luckily nothing.
The officer whose place I have taken here has told me a funny story. I told you that we were in the park of a little château. The house is a ruin, but a few yards from it there is still a pond holding a large population of carp and goldfish. A German bomb found its way right into the middle of the pond and exploded, killing the majority of the inhabitants. The fish floated to the surface and were soon frozen into a thick layer of ice. So, quite simply in breaking the ice, our men found enough fish to make three or four good meals and break the monotony of stew and “bully beef.”
I have just received this letter from Tante Julia. The Parisians have been hit by the cold harder than us. We can buy coal, or at least what one calls coal. It’s not worth shipping, as all it is is a black dust with a hard piece here and there that looks like anthracite, but is more likely a piece of slate. Nevertheless, we get it to burn, and we are kept warm more or less.
Dear mother, don’t tire yourself out with lectures and collections. But I know how Tante Julia appreciates the results of your efforts. I will be interested to hear if you have done that planned conference in Ottawa, and to have your impressions of the reception at Rideau Hall.
With this new U-boat campaign, I fear that we won’t be able to have you on these shores this summer. In fact, we are optimistic these days and we can hope to see you again in Canada, maybe before the end of the year.
Etienne
25 January 1917
My very dear Dad,
Here I am during the last several days camped with my section in a lovely little corner of the woods and rolling fields that almost remind me of the La Clairière countryside! My shelter isn’t too bad. It’s a large room, about ten by fifteen feet, built of circular steel sections bolted together. At one end, a lovely big fire is crackling away in an open fireplace, brought there, I presume, from some nearby abandoned houses. We are quite isolated from the men. There is some infantry in nearby shelters.
Etienne
P.S. Tell Mom that I don’t want to see any quotes from my letters reproduced in the Daily.
My dear mother,
Be very careful not to tire yourself too much with all your war work. It will perhaps be finished soon, and you mustn’t be sick at our return.
I’m pleased to hear about your lunch at Rideau Hall, and that the Duchess of Devonshire and her distinguished guests appreciated your efforts. That must have been encouraging for you.
Etienne
4 February 1917
My dear mother,
It’s almost a Canadian winter, except that we don’t have reasonable central heating. These days we are living in a big house that is, to us, like a palace. We have paper to replace the window with one broken pane to let in a little light, and lots of wind, however, it is a real house. The rooms are high, wide, and long, and therefore cold, as the little stove where we make our fires isn’t sufficient to heat them. We are lucky to easily get coal, which is not the case everywhere, especially in Paris.
No mud in the trenches, as is usually the case, even in the winter, but instead of the mud there is a thin coating of ice on the trench floors, so that one travels around better on skates than in heavy boots. It’s Sunday today. Here, however, it’s just another day. We can’t give “Fritz” one day’s rest.
I met Percy Corbett very near here the other day. He’s now in the 13th Battalion. Tell his brother if you see him that he’s looking well. I would like to say more but I don’t dare.
Etienne
12 February 1917
Dear Tante Julia,
Good news from Jean and Philippe. Jean had measles and was been sent to the Hospital in Wimereux, where he is being cared for in a bathhouse. The second is still at the Front and is feeling well. Please tell me how you found André, and whether you had been able to go to Le Havre to see him.
Etienne
49th Battery 12th Brigade 1st Division
February 10th 1917
Lieut. E.S. Bieler’s name was submitted as a candidate for the army Intelligence corps as he had an excellent knowledge of French and knew German fairly well.
Dear Tante Julia,
You will have read more in the newspapers about what we do than I can tell you. Here we are today in the countryside that only a week ago belonged to the Germans. It was magnificent to hear and, for those that were able, to see this artillery barrage, cutting everything in its wake to allow our infantry to make the biggest one-day advance since the beginning of the war. Already the next day we advanced on enemy soil. We are now in one of these famous German underground apartments with long, steep stairs leading us to a long, narrow panelled gallery sheltered from everything. There are rooms of every description and every size. In every one we see indications of surprise and a hasty escape: meals half-eaten, open lunchboxes, clothes thrown here and there on the bunks. We find all kinds of strange objects, curious or useful, lamps, telephones, pistols, etc.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my brothers. André is not far from here, but impossible to have a moment to go and see him. Whereas Philippe must be back in the trenches somewhere.
Etienne
49th Battery 12th Brigade 1st Division
March 1st 1917
The 8th battery fired on four barrages supporting a raid on German trenches carried out by the 14th Canadian Battalion and raid was a very satisfactory one. Ten prisoners were brought back belonging to 22nd Regiment and 10th Reserve Regiment. Dugouts were blown up and casualties inflicted on the enemy. The enemy retaliated for 10 minutes on our trenches they then closed down.
3 March 1917
My dear mother,
I have an officer from another battery sharing my dugout. We read or write, and to help the evenings to go by we roast some snacks on the fire, and then we go to bed early and get ten good hours of sleep, unless we are woken in the middle of the night to send a few pills to “Fritz” to force him to be quiet.
What do you think of this nice little advance in the Somme? I jumped with joy on the 26th when the news was heard on the telephone. We had been almost trapped in the mud for so long in front of these same villages last fall that this success is particularly interesting for us, and my men were just as interested as me when I brought them the news and showed them the advance on the map. Since then, we have gotten the newspaper three times, and it has regularly announced a further advance. Things seem to be moving ahead very fast in Mesopotamia as well. Is this the beginning of the end?
I have heard that Philippe is not far from here now, and I have some hope to see him perhaps one day next week. It’s been more than five months since I saw him last.
Nothing from Jean, nor André, nor Philippe. Cousin Emile will soon come on leave; he is passing his officer exams in Orleans.
Etienne
IF THE LETTERS FROM the civilians to the military were longer and the parcels more numerous, there was also a sad trend in the opposite direction: a short note with no address and often without a date, written in the rain on some poor paper. Sometimes more detailed and more easily read letters written in the rear, and even a small package containing an object made at the Front: like a medallion sculpted at the edge of the canal of the Yser, a gun shell, the tip of a bayonet, or a button from a uniform, filed, crimped, and adjusted to make a lovely paper knife. Another time it is the thin wooden strips from a wrecked airplane used to create a little frame prettily decorated with a garland, or a piece of lace bought from an old Flemish worker: “Mom will know what to do with it!”
After his rest at Le Havre, André had rejoined his battalion in the coal-mining area of the Pas de Calais. This was not to be a happy return. First of all, André’s best friends are gone. They are demobilized, wounded, dead … Then it’s the short sad days of winter in that dreadful climate of the North: it drizzles, it smokes, it rains, and the water drips from the helmet just like a roof during a shower.—(BB)
February 1917
My dear father,
There’s a big difference at the battalion since I left it. I meet very few known faces, but I was pleased to meet Biddolph, who I think is in touch with Mom. He reminds me a lot of Etienne.
What bad luck I had with Philippe! Here he is away just as I come to his side; but I am very glad that he went at this time. I thank you for having made some approaches for me, but I fear that they are not of much use, unless I am wounded again and sent back to England.
The mud is incredible, wherever we go. Last week we were in tiny shelters, about three feet high, and just long enough to lie down. We were seven: very super squeezed!
André
My dear parents,
It’s gotten colder, a few inches of snow are covering the ruins and the rubbish, the horrible chocolate cream has hardened, and one can walk on it without sinking.
The sides of the trenches are dry and hard like rock. What a mess in the spring when it melts and collapses. I’m not looking forward to it!
Philippe
Bruay, 17 February 1917
My dear parents,
I am on guard duty today and we are now resting in a small town. About twenty of us are lodged in the attic of a private house on the town square where the market is held. On that day, as of 6 a.m. the carts begin to arrive, and the women, helped by the children, don’t take long to install their little boutiques. At 8 a.m. the crowd, civilian and military, gathers together. It’s great fun to observe the variety of uniforms. The young French soldiers are in light blue, often quite pale, the old soldiers have funny old tunics, the alpine hunters are well turned out, with their berets down to their ears and their dark-blue jackets that highlight their yellow stripes, the Belgians are in khaki, the colonials are wearing a red fez, and, as for us, we have the dullest uniforms. Meanwhile the children play football in the square.
Philippe
26 February 1917
My dear parents,
Last Sunday I went to the 3 p.m. service at the Protestant church, and I was so glad to find myself in this environment. A nice lady approaches me at the end and invites me to see her the next day. I went and found out that they were the Reverend and Mrs. Lemaitre, of Swiss origin, who had lived in this invaded country for many years, but, given their nationality, they had been able to return from Germany and continue their work on the other side of the Front. As soon as I mentioned my name, we discovered that we had many acquaintances in common. They also very much admire Tante Julia, who, before the war came to organize plays in their church. Mrs. Lemaitre told me many interesting things about her experiences in Germany. I have a nice little home at her place and I intend to benefit from it during my stay here.
Philippe
General Hospital, Etaples, 25 March 1917
My dear parents,
Here’s what happened to me: We were resting in the little village I was speaking about, when one morning on the village square during morning gymnastics, I didn’t feel well at all. When I went to see the first-aid corporal, he found that I had a temperature of 103 and so sent me to the ambulance and from there to the Casualty Clearing Station. The following day they dress us with cap and gloves and, without further comment, we are loaded onto mobile stretchers and eventually put to bed in a hospital train, where we were in comfortable beds near large windows through which we could admire the sad and monotonous countryside. Due to endless stops, we only arrived at our destination twenty-four hours after our departure. How happy I was after this tiring trip to be stuffed into a fresh white bed and to sleep like a log! I woke up in a beautiful huge tent, where Jean soon arrived for a visit. You can imagine my joy in seeing him after this two-year separation! He was very kind and thoughtful, and, as he left, gave me a nice present.
Because of a minor setback, I am still in Etaples, and I’m working as a junior nurse making beds, as the room’s librarian, secretary, sweeper, accountant, handy man, assistant to the sergeant of the Red Cross service. All that makes the time go by. Jean came back to see me.
Philippe
49th Battery 12th Brigade 1st Division
March 15th 1917
A.H.Q, 12-31 received informing us that the Batteries of the 12th Brigade C.F.A. were to be split up in the following manner:
47th Battery to go to the 1st Brigade
8th Battery to go to the 2nd Brigade
49th Battery to go to the 3rd Brigade
March 20th
Lieut. E.S. Bieler was transferred from 12th Brigade to 1st Brigade
1st Battery CFA, 20 March 1917
My dear mother,
While looking for the last time through the letters and things that were beginning to clutter my files, and overcrowd the limited baggage of a soldier, I have just found your package of January 11. I must confess that I have lost the pen, and she was so soft that it was a pleasure to write!
I’m giving you a new address on this letterhead: 1st Battery CFA; the 47th has in fact been eliminated. Today one section of two guns has moved to the 3rd, and my section comprising the other two to the 1st. The major leaves to command the 3rd. From three batteries, they have created two of six guns each. And it isn’t without tears and gnashing of teeth that the 47th, which had basically been closed thirty months ago, was divided forever. I received the order to prepare for my exit to join the 1st Battery last night. I had previously felt that I was attached to the battery and to my men, of which I took several of the best ones! However, if that had been difficult for me, how much more difficult it must have been for the major, who had recruited the team and led it for thirty months.
But, in the army you have to accept things the way they come. I have only been in the 1st Battery for a few hours, and I think that I feel good about where I am. I knew two of the officers at McGill, and they both greeted me warmly.
Etienne
29 March 1917
My dear mother,
I pick up my letter after a two-hour interruption. I was interrupted a moment to shoot several rounds. We have finished now, and I still have a moment before the food rations arrive and the letters leave.
In your last letter, you were asking me a whole list of questions. I will try to answer as best as I can, given the restrictions of the censors:
I have a section of two guns. They are field guns called 18-pounders that are similar to the French 75s. Each gun has one sergeant, one corporal, two bombardiers, eight gunners, and nine conductors, excluding the cook, the saddler, and the blacksmith. The gun and the two vans each have six horses. In action I only see the gunners and the guns. The rest of the section stays at a certain distance behind. This is what is called the “wagon line.” It is that part of the battery that is responsible for supplying us with munitions and food.
I have been in this section since the beginning of January. It has been changed quite a lot since we moved. A few of my best junior officers and men have stayed with the rest of the battery. But the heart is the same, and we have what it takes for the section to be second to none. In action, my job has mostly to do with the battery in general. We each take turns at the observation post for one or two days, depending on the situation. We have a good situation here. We sleep in one of those beautiful courtyards that can only be found in France, and that we were quite pleased to find. There are piles of old wooden building materials in the area. We can make a good fire in our courtyard in the evening, and cook some delicious meals, or at least they seem that way after a cold day in the fresh air. We also each have our turn at the battery and our turn in the trenches with the infantry. That way we lead an ambulant life, rarely two nights in a row at the same place.
I have just heard from Tante Julia that André is once again at the Front. He would maybe be with the “Pats” again; the 3rd Entrenching Battalion was only a reserve for the infantry. The “Pats” are apparently not far from here. I intend to have a look around there the next time I will have a free afternoon, maybe in two or three days.
Etienne
Dear boys,
Complete change of scene in Boston. I arrived in a very aristocratic section, at the home of ladies that have travelled a great deal, that went to school in Lausanne or Dresden, and with whom it was easy to talk of many interesting things. It’s very strange to be in the US at this time. Public opinion is overexcited, and people think that war with Germany is now inevitable. Some are sad; they are the confirmed pacifists, and there are many of those. Others think that courageous sacrifice is a must, in order to maintain the great reputation of America.
I think that I told you that our congress was meant to deal with religious education in the schools and universities. In fact, we spent our time on the actual situation and the obligations that the American citizens now faced. Thus, one of the projects was on this: “Is the obedience to Christ’s laws compatible with the necessities of the modern state?” The one who presented this thesis, Professor Brown from New York, showed three possible attitudes: one, as the Germans say, impossible; two, those who pretend that Christianity necessarily implies non-participation in war, like Bryan; and finally, those who think that, given the current circumstances, there are problems even more serious than war, that Christianity itself tries to avoid. The subject is now much discussed in Canada, but seems new for the Americans.
Charles
March 1917
My dear brothers,
Two of Dad’s bookcases were about to collapse, which would have been catastrophic. It was therefore necessary to repair them, which took a lot of time. Wednesday afternoon, Harry and I went to visit the ginger-ale factory. There are a lot of bottles that explode with a big bang when the soda water is poured in. Friday I went with the Millers to St Anne’s. We saw the greenhouse, the baby chicks, the cows, the pigs, the bulls, and the calves. We also went to see the maple-sugar production, and we tasted an ample assortment of the product. We also went to see the military hospital. There are several huge two-storey houses connected by hallways. We had a good look, and then found out that it was forbidden to visit.
Affectionately, your brother
Jacques
“Always marching.” Panoramic view of Canadian troops carrying trench mats, interspersed with German prisoners in a wasteland of mud.
NOTHING OF GREAT IMPORTANCE HAPPENED during the spring of 1917. Neither Lloyd George nor Haig were sure how to achieve a victory, but they were nevertheless convinced that they would get there. The Allied leaders were watching the Germans strengthening their positions, and were beginning to be concerned about Nivelle’s promise for a definitive victory.
Meanwhile, the Germans were also becoming more aggressive on the high seas, and began to threaten the British Isles with a policy of sending their U-boats to sink all enemy shipping at sight. Their only hesitation was that they knew it could lead the Americans to enter the war. The situation changed dramatically on 31 January, following a sudden announcement from Germany confirming that they would immediately introduce unrestricted submarine warfare: “all shipping, including neutral ships, would be sunk at sight in the War Zone of the Eastern Atlantic.” President Wilson broke off relations with Germany on 2 February, but still hoped to avoid declaring war. The German U-boats immediately went into action.
Etienne’s 12th Brigade had a month’s rest at Camblain l’Abbé.
