"'When we come back from first death'
Thomas MacGreevy and the Great War"
1
Susan Schreibman
                                                    To Thomas MacGreevy Hypertext Chronology Homepage To Copyright Information Page

 

First published in Stand To 42 (Jan 1995) p15-18.
This text has not been re-edited for this hypertext version.


Thomas MacGreevy, poet, translator, art and literary critic— a man of letters in the old sense of the word, was born in Tarbert, Co Kerry, Ireland in 1893. After completing national school he sat for the civil service exam and entered the British Civil Service in February 1910, first serving in the Irish Land Commission, then the English Charity Commission, and from 1913, in the Department of the Admiralty in London. MacGreevy's major creative work was a book of poems published by Heinemann in 1934. It is a slim blue volume simply entitled Poems. Even the most cursory glance through this volume (written by and large between 1924 and 1932) shows how much the Great War influenced MacGreevy's poetry.

Unusually, MacGreevy's war experience began long before he sailed for the Somme. It began within days of the British declaration of war when he was transferred to Naval intelligence. By the time MacGreevy got his bearings, his new supervisor was William Reginald Hall, the Director of Naval Intelligence. Rear-Admiral Reginald Hall was described in March 1918 (rather gushingly) by Dr Page, the then American Ambassador in London to President Wilson, as the 'one genius that the war has developed. . . . All other secret service men are amateurs by comparison. . . . For Hall can look through you and see the very muscular movements of your immortal soul while he is talking to you.'2 'Blinker' Hall (so named for his incessant blinking, due, his daughter claimed, to malnutrition as a child3) born in June 1870, was the son of the first Director of the Intelligence Division of the Admiralty, Captain William Henry Hall.4 Like his father, he had a distinguished naval career. Just when it looked as though he would be promoted even further, he had to relinquish the command of his ship due to ill health and seemed destined 'either for retirement or some obscure post ashore'.5 Fate intervened. On 14 October 1914 when the then Director of Intelligence, Henry Francis Oliver, became Naval Assistant to the 1st Lord, and the next month Chief of the War Staff6, Hall was chosen to replace him as Director of Intelligence. When Hall arrived, he found that Oliver had set up a secret department within the Admiralty which came to be known as 'Room 40' or 'Room 40 O.B.'— the O.B. standing for Old Building where the office was located.

Room 40 was headed by a fifty-nine year old Scotsman, Sir Alfred Ewing. Room 40 was filled with leading British scientists, professors and professionals who intercepted and broke German codes throughout the war. At first the German codes were changed every three months, but when the Germans deduced from the movement of British ships that the Admiralty was obtaining intelligence from their signals, they changed the key every twenty-four hours. Although Room 40 was under Hall's command, MacGreevy's contact with the operations in Room 40 were slight. In MacGreevy's memoirs (written in the last years of his life) he mentions, through a misunderstanding, once delivering a message to Room 40. He was, most unusually allowed in, and just as quickly ushered out, being requested not to mention anything of what he had seen.7 More ominously, just before MacGreevy was to leave for his summer holidays in 1916, H.C. Hoy of Room 40 asked MacGreevy if he would take notes 'on the state of political feeling' in his part of the country and then prepare a report for the D.I.D., who then might consider putting it in front of the prime minister.8 MacGreevy objected— not, as he readily admits for political reasons— but because he was going on holiday and wanted to leave work behind.9

During the year and a half MacGreevy worked in the office of the D.I.D. he generally worked nights— twelve hours on and twenty-four hours off— with an officer of the Marine Section, Major (afterwards Colonel) Sinclair, and an officer of the Naval Section, a Latinist named Johns.10 Their work consisted of sorting telegrams and diplomatic and military reports for the day staff. Cots were provided for quiet periods, but MacGreevy, not one for sleeping whenever the opportunity existed for congenial conversation, would do the rounds— first stopping in Johns' office, moving on to Sinclair's and concluding with the one-armed messenger, until all had fallen asleep or more work came in.11

Perhaps because MacGreevy's work was considered essential to the war effort, coupled with his lack of ideological or any other interest in soldiering, during the first months of the war MacGreevy simply initialled the direct appeals for recruits from the War Office that had begun to circulate in government departments, and passed them on.12 By mid-1915, however, the newly-formed Ministry of Munitions decided to compile a National Register of all persons (male and female) between the ages of fifteen and sixty-five. On 15 July 1915 the Act of Parliament received Royal Assent, and Sunday 15 August was set aside for the 'populace to provide particulars of age and occupation.13 Men of military age were copied onto pink forms14 and a star was placed against the names of those in essential occupations',15 such as MacGreevy. The government wasn't fooling anybody though: it was widely believed that the register was the first step for out and out conscription. MacGreevy, who was always meticulously conscientious, could have waited until after his summer holidays in August to fill up the forms. Indeed, sensing what was coming he could have opted to stay in Tarbert. He did neither, and instead filled them up before leaving London for Tarbert in early August.

Nineteen Sixteen was a year in which the perception of the war (by both the general public and those fighting) changed radically. It was also a year which was pivotal in charting a future for Thomas MacGreevy. Interestingly, the 1916 Rising, which had a profound impact on so many in Dublin had little impact on MacGreevy's life in London. The arrest, trial and subsequent hanging, however, of Sir Roger Casement, a distinguished member of the Foreign Service who, upon his retirement in 1913 became increasingly involved in the cause of Irish nationalism, seemed to mark a turning point in MacGreevy's perception of Irish national identity. It was, in fact, under Hall's orders that Casement was caught off the Kerry coast on 20th April. Room 40 had intercepted at least thirty-two messages between Count Bernstorff (the German Ambassador in Washington) and his government dealing with German assistance for Sinn Fein in the first three years of the war. It is not clear how many of these messages were decoded contemporaneously. It is clear, however, that Hall had enough information to know that an armed uprising was being planned in Dublin for 23 April, and that Casement was due to arrive off the west coast of Ireland sometime between the 9th and 15th of April.16 Hall's information was not far off. Casement landed on the 20th at Banna Strand and was captured two days later.17

Casement was brought back to London on Easter Sunday. He was immediately brought under escort to Scotland Yard, where Basil Thompson, head of the C.I.D., and Hall interrogated him.18 Then taken to Brixton prison, and later returned to be interrogated on Easter Monday. The London papers gave almost as much coverage to Casement's capture and trial as to the Rising. The press coverage inspired MacGreevy to write his first story— a dialogue between Roger Casement in prison and Sir Arthur Nicolson, Permanent Under-Secretary of State at the Foreign Office.

Not long after the Easter Rising and Casement's capture, MacGreevy was asked to deliver a sealed communication to the Admiral Commanding at Queenstown (now Cork). It was not uncommon for MacGreevy, a Second Division Clerk, to be asked to deliver communications which were deemed too important to be trusted to a regular messenger, and too confidential to send over the wires. In his year and a half with the Admiralty he was frequently called upon to deliver such envelopes to various Admirals throughout the British isles. However, the communication he delivered on 9 May, 1916 in Queenstown, six days after the first of the leaders of the Easter 1916 Rising were executed, and the day after the execution of Con Colbert (whom MacGreevy had met while a civil servant in Dublin), probably had greater personal import for MacGreevy than anything else he had been asked to do by the Admiralty. When he dutifully delivered the communication to the admiral commanding at Queenstown, he seems to have had little idea that he might be playing some part (however small) in the British crackdown in Ireland.19 It seems never to have occurred to MacGreevy not to have delivered the envelope, nor that he, rather than one of the other clerks, was sent to Ireland because his being Irish guaranteed him safer passage than his English counterparts. The incident perhaps only in retrospect, however, provided another step for MacGreevy along the road to political awareness.

In May 1916 universal conscription finally became law.20 Yet, two months earlier, in March 1916, MacGreevy was deemed to have enlisted in the Royal Field Artillery. It is not clear why MacGreevy joined up when he did. The most likely explanation is that seeing the writing on the wall he opted to enlist while he still had some choice in the matter rather than wait to be conscripted. Had he waited, however, until May, until after the 1916 Rising and the subsequent execution of its leaders, he may never have enlisted. Nevertheless, once enlisted, the bureaucratic wheels were set in motion, and exactly one year later, MacGreevy was posted to the Royal Field Artillery depot at Woolwich.

MacGreevy's opting for the Artillery was as much a matter of chance as design. He had heard that the Artillery was looking for cadets and he interviewed with Major Dawson of the War Office. As an artillery cadet, MacGreevy's training was much longer than for other would-be officers. Artillery training was extremely technical and included instruction (in addition to physical training, dismounted and mounted drill, and rifle exercises), exercises in gun drill. These included instruction in gunnery, laying, fuse setting and visual training, in addition to lectures on calculating projectile angles, velocity and ranging (establishing projectile elevation, fuse and line).21 After a short stint at a training school in Bloomsbury, MacGreevy was posted early in May 1917 to No. 1 Officer Cadet School at St John's Wood. It was probably here that MacGreevy met Geoffrey England Taylor, a cadet five years his junior, to whom MacGreevy dedicated the first poem in Poems, entitled 'Nocturne'.

After St John's Wood, MacGreevy's and Taylor's training continued in Shoeburyness, Larkhill and Boyton. Early in November, MacGreevy and Taylor received their commissions as 2nd Lieutenants in the Royal Field Artillery. A little over a month later, the two men sailed for Le Havre from Southampton, and from there took a train to the Ypres Salient. Thus on 1 January 1918, Second Lieutenant Thomas MacGreevy reported for duty with the 148th Brigade of the 30th Division Artillery, a Division which previously distinguished itself for achieving one of the few successes on the first day of the Somme. Second Lieutenant Geoffrey Taylor reported for duty with trench mortars of the 149th. Taylor had the unfortunate luck of being transferred from guns to trench mortars during his first posting. As MacGreevy put it in his memoirs, being transferred to trench mortars was 'the greatest misfortune to befall a gunner-officer. Trench mortars were regarded with horror by all artillery men,' and referred to as nothing less than a 'suicide club'.22

The day MacGreevy joined his Brigade at Halebast, near Zillebecke, they were supporting the front line in battle. In his memoirs, MacGreevy describes his first night on the Ypres Salient:

We were being shot at, being shot at steadily and accurately. The 'stuff', heavy 'stuff', was coming down on us hard and fast. Twice the sandbagged roof of the dug-out was hit with 'five-nines', German high explosive shells. The light went out both times; the whole dug-out shook. Still it did not fall in on us. We were able to light up again. If this was war it was not a battle. To the Germans it was only a routine 'shoot'. We would send them back their ration of shells when the scheduled hour came round. Meantime we had to take what was coming to us for the half-hour or forty minutes the bombardment lasted.23

That day orders had been received from HQ that the 37th Divisional Artillery would be relieving them. By 5 January the Brigade was marching to Steenbecque where they would entrain and be moved behind the lines for training. But during those first five days, MacGreevy witnessed something that over nine years later he would inscribe in poetry. The second poem in Poems, 'De Civitate Hominum', (the end of which is reprinted below) about a British Airman being shot down near the front line, was only the first of such deaths that MacGreevy would witness:

There are fleece-white flowers of death
That unfold themselves prettily
About an airman
Who, high over Gheluvelt,
Is taking a morning look round,
All silk and silver up in the blue.

I hear the drone of an engine
And soft pounding puffs in the air
As the fleece-white flowers unfold.

I cannot tell which flower he has accepted
But suddenly there is a tremor,
A zigzag of lines against the blue
And he streams down
Into the white,
A delicate flame,
A stroke of orange in the morning's dress.

My sergeant says, very low, 'Holy God!
'Tis a fearful death.'

Holy God makes no reply
Yet.24

Some weeks later MacGreevy himself realised the power over life and death he himself held. In his memoirs, MacGreevy relates an incident early on in his military career in which he initiated a gun attack:

It was on a day when I was observation officer. The post was in the front line. The road up to Saint Quentin from the German lines was clearly visible. Suddenly I noticed a group of German soldiers appearing on that road and, as quickly as they might, descending from it by what must have been a very narrow and very rugged pathway. For they went one by one so that I had time to plot the point with compass, map, etc., not enough time to 'get' the German lads themselves, (which I was not conscious of wanting to do), but at least to make that descent still less negotiable for them than already it obviously was. So I told my signaller to telephone the battery and when he was through I turned on the guns, well and truly 'plastering' the spot for a few minutes. It must have been a fair distance behind the German front line for through my glasses I had noticed that the German lads were not wearing steel helmets but forage caps with, I think, red bands. I say that I was not conscious of wanting to 'get' them as Germans or as fellow human beings.25

This passage is interesting for several reasons. On a personal level it demonstrates MacGreevy's ambiguity at being a soldier. On the one hand he was 'out there' to, as he puts it 'get' German soldiers. On the other hand, he thought of them as fellow human beings as opposed to 'the enemy'. MacGreevy was certainly not a willing soldier, but he did do what he was expected to do, and did it well. On a more general level, this passage is interesting because it gives quite a good picture of the type of work that Artillery Officers did. It must be remembered that during the First World War it was believed that Artillery could only be used as a back-up to the infantry. The 1914 Field Artillery Training Manual states under the chapter 'Employment of Artillery in War' that

Artillery cannot ensure decisive success in battle by its own destructive action. It is the advance of the infantry that alone is capable of producing this result.

To help the infantry to maintain its mobility and offensive power by all the means at its disposal should be the underlying principle of all artillery tactics.

The primary objects of artillery fire should therefore be:

i. To assist the movements of its own infantry.

ii. To prevent the movements of the enemy's infantry.26

One of the characteristic problems in the Great War was that the mobility did not exist to exploit gaps in the enemy line. One wonders what the authors of the 1914 Manual would have felt if they could have witnessed the amazing display of superpower artillery utilised in the Gulf War. Be that as it may, what was a typical tour of duty for an a Second Lieutenant like Thomas MacGreevy? Wyndham Lewis, the English writer and painter, and founder of the artistic movement Vorticism, was a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Garrison Artillery. His Blasting and Bombardiering (recently reissued in a handsome facsimile edition by the Imperial War Museum) describes the lot of Gunners:

A gunner does not fight. He merely shells and is shelled. He discharges a large metal cylinder, aiming it by means of a delicately-adjusted mechanism, to fall at a certain spot which he cannot see, in the hope that he may kill somebody that he hopes is there. He himself suffers from the desire of other, enemy, gunners, a long way away, to achieve the same object with respect to himself.

The gunner rarely if ever sees the enemy, except prisoners, when the infantry succeed in capturing some, and they are sent behind the Line, in small herds. The exception to this rule is the gunner-officer, who as an 'observer' sometimes sees the animal he is opposing in a free state— that is not in captivity. . . .

It is one of the tasks of an artillery officer to go up to observation-posts, as they are called ('O-Pip', for short). But I have never engaged in personal combat with a German in a trench or anywhere else. So I have not 'fought' the Germans, except in the more abstract sense that I have been responsible for the dispatch of unlimited numbers of shells in their direction, and a s a result of the explosion of these shells (when they were not duds) I may have done these foreman more injury than I ever could have done them, I am sure, with my strong right arm.27

Lewis's account is admittedly tongue-in-cheek, but probably not far from the truth. Acting as forward Observation Officer would probably have been the most dangerous, as well as the most strategically important duty required of artillery officers. Forward observation involved manning an observation post with a signaller. Again, I quote Lewis:

Where the officer's experience differs from that of the rank and file [i.e. Gunners] is that he leaves the guns and goes up to what is called an observation post. It is in the course of this latter duty that his experience merges somewhat with that of the infantry. . .

As a battery officer at the Front my main duties were to mooch about the battery, and to go up before daybreak with a party of signallers to an observation post. This was usually just behind the Front Line trench-- in the No Man's Land just behind it. . .

This O. Pip work was hard and often very dangerous. . . . Nearly half the time of a siege-battery subaltern was spent at the observation post. Quite ninety percent of that time was wasted. In an active part of the Front the telephone wires would never remain intact for long, as they would be cut by shell-fire. It might have been quite useful if the enemy had not persisted in destroying the wires, or if they had left the observation post itself in peace. But his they would not do. They spotted an observation post within a half-hour at the outside and would shell it to pieces. They even shelled anything that looked like an observation post. A half-dozen stumps of trees in what once was a wood they would never let alone.28

The Observation officer charted enemy positions and movements, and through his signaller, indicated back to his Brigade where to fire. In theory, of course, this all sounds rather cut and dry, but it was not. As Lewis notes, the radio wires were always being cut, or bombed or somehow disconnected. So it was not infrequent for the Signaller to have to climb out of the observation post and crawl along the wire looking for the severed connection to repair it. It was not uncommon, according to John Terraine, for Signallers to have to repair 40 or 50 breaks in a cable in a single day.29 In addition, there was the problem of being a sitting duck. After all, the enemy knew that f they hit the Observation Officer the bombardments would stop, or at least the accuracy of the bombardments would be mitigated. Yet, for all its danger, MacGreevy writes of his turn as Observation Officer wistfully:

I noticed that the soldiers on the opposing sides had ways of playing games with each other. Thus an English machine gunner might rattle off a few rounds to the rhythm of Daa, Da-Dah, Dah and stop. Back immediately would come the answering close of the rhythm from a German machine-gunner, Dah, Dah. Then there would be silence for another while. At that observation post too I became conscious of the pang of leaving the infantry at dust. There they would be, standing on the first step, at the 'alert' in case of a possible surprise attack, steel helmets on the rifles at the ready.30 One had been with them since dawn, engaging from time to time in friendly exchanges. Now they returned a wistful 'Goodnight' as one passed towards a communication trench that lead away from then and back towards the guns on the protection of which they counted so much.31

The Artillery, unlike the infantry, was not recruited along regional lines. And it was divided up into Batteries rather than Battalions. A Field Battery generally consisted of two or three sections (although later in the war there would be four) each of two guns with their complement of ammunition wagons. A Brigade of Artillery was composed of three batteries of field artillery, each with its ammunition column.32 So, for example, in MacGreevy's Division, the 30th, there were two Artillery Brigades, the 148th (MacGreevy's), and the 149th (Taylor's). The 148th was then divided up into four Batteries, A,B,C and D. MacGreevy was assigned to A Battery, 148th Division on 1 January 1918, and remained there until his being wounded severely enough on 3 October (with his commanding officer, Major Stanley) to be sent back to England.

Once an Artillery Brigade went out of action, it usually stayed out for some weeks, and often Divisional Artillery on a particular part of the line would support the infantry of another Division. This is for purely logistical reasons. While it was relatively easy to move an infantry Battalion, Artillery was another matter. They tended to stay put— for moving the guns and the ammunition by horse and manpower was no easy matter. And even after intensive initial training, field training was extensive for both officers and the Brigade as a whole. MacGreevy himself spent five weeks at the 2nd Division Army School only eight months after he had finished training at Woolwich.33 This training was due, most obviously, to the constant improvements in technology and technique. For example, one of the shelling techniques developed during the War was that of the creeping barrage used in offensives. A creeping barrage 'was a moving curtain' with the objective of nailing the enemy into his shelters until the last moment when the attacking infantry was virtually on top of him, and then moving on to the next objective to repeat the performance. 'An accurate preliminary bombardment (for a big battle in the West . . . might last ten or fourteen days) to destroy defences, dumps and communications, followed by an equally accurate barrage with well-trained infantry behind it, could generally, from early 1915 onwards, be guaranteed to capture an enemy position.'34

It was not until 1917, according to John Terraine, that the British Army really learned to use its Guns. One the eve of the 1917 Spring Offensive the BEF had a total of 5,658 guns and howitzers, 1,492 of them heavy guns. 'For their attack on 9 April (Easter Monday) at Arras, the British First and Third Armies employed 963 heavy guns on a frontage of 13 miles -- more than twice as many as on 1 July 1916 on a larger frontage.'35 During the preliminary bombardment between 25 March and 8 April, 2,687,653 rounds were fired. During the period of most intensive fighting, between 9 April and 16 May, over 4,261,500 rounds were fired. A German described the intensive phase of bombardment beginning 2 April as 'the week of suffering'. Fifty thousand tons of shells reduced the sector to 'a pock-marked wilderness of mud-filled craters.'36

The next year, on 21 March, when the Germans launched their Spring Offensive, MacGreevy was on leave in Kerry. He was halfway through it when orders to return to his Brigade arrived. MacGreevy must have returned to the Saint Quentin area (where his Brigade was supposed to be) around 5 April, but could not find them. In all the confusion, it took him 60 hours to locate and then get to his Brigade.37 When MacGreevy arrived Major Stanley made him orderly officer for a week-- which MacGreevy agreed to with alacrity.

During the first day of the offensive six of his Brigade's Guns had been destroyed. When, on the evening of the first day of the Offensive, the British launched a counter-attack, the wounded were later found were they had fallen. What's more, they reported that the advancing Germans gave them drinks of water when asked. One of MacGreevy's Majors had spent the day on his horse in his pyjamas and greatcoat while had taken part in the evening's counter-attack. In his Memoirs, MacGreevy confirms Terraine's analysis of 1917 by noting that the type of moving warfare the British engaged in during the German Offensive was what the Horse and Field Artillery were best trained for— even if the movement had been in the wrong direction.38

MacGreevy remained in the line until 3 October (except for training) when he was wounded (for a second time) by shell fire. Several days later he was transferred to a hospital in Manchester, and after the Armistice sent to Athlone (the only artillery depot in Ireland), coming under orders of the 5a Reserve Brigade, and posted to the 27th Reserve Battery. On 22 January 1919, MacGreevy resigned his commission, and on 4 May he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant.

It is only fitting that as a writer himself, MacGreevy's own words end this article.' Nocturne' is the first poem in Poems. It is dedicated to Geoffrey England Taylor, 2nd Lieutenant, R.F.A., with the simple note afterwards, in inverted commas, 'Died of Wounds'— which is all probably MacGreevy ever found out about his friend's demise. Taylor died on the 26th of September as he was taking ammunition up to his battery under heavy fire.39 In his memory, MacGreevy wrote these lines which capture the sense of hopelessness and godlessness that must have plagued, however fleetingly, so many men who fought with an unprecedented spirit of self-sacrifice in the Great War:

I labour in a barren place,
Alone, self-conscious, frightened, blundering;
Far away, stars wheeling in space,
About my feet, earth voices whispering.

 


Notes


 

1 My thanks to the Friendly Sons on St Patrick (Philadelphia Chapter) for a generous grant which allowed me to carry out this research. My thanks also to the MacGreevy estate for permission to quote from Thomas MacGreevy's unpublished memoirs, and to Martin Staunton who first suggested this article, and whose eagle eye caught several mistakes. Any remaining errors are wholly my own. Back to text.

2 Admiral Sir William James, The Eyes of the Navy: A Biographical Study of Admiral Sir Reginald Hall (Methuen, 1955), p.xvii. Back to text.

3 Patrick Beesly, Room 40: British Naval Intelligence 1914-18 (Hamish Hamilton, 1982), p.34. Back to text.

4 James, p.2. Back to text.

5 Beesly, p.36. Back to text.

6 Beesly, p.36. Back to text.

7 Thomas MacGreevy, Memoirs, p.262-3. Back to text.

8 Memoirs, p.285. Back to text.

9 Memoirs, p.286. Back to text.

10 Memoirs, p.244-5. Back to text.

11 Memoirs, p.264. Back to text.

12 Memoirs, p.256. Back to text.

13 Arthur Marwick, The Deluge: British Society and The First World War (Macmillan, 1965), p.61. Back to text.

14 As social historian Arthur Marwick notes: 'the Civil Service having a most inept sense of colour values'. Back to text.

15 Marwick, p.62. Back to text.

16 Ironically, Casement returned to Ireland to try to prevent the Easter Rising. Back to text.

17 Beesly, pp.188-9. Back to text.

18 Brian Inglis, Roger Casement (Hodder and Stoughton, 1973), p.318. Back to text.

19 Memoirs, p.283. Back to text.

20 See Marwick p.76 and ff, and J.M. Bourne Britain and the Great War: 1914-1918 (Edward Arnold, 1989), pp.122-3. Back to text.

21 Field Artillery Training: 1914. (General Staff, War Office, 1914), pp.144 & 409. Back to text.

22 Memoirs, pp.318-19. Back to text.

23 Memoirs, pp. 342-3. Back to text.

24 Susan Schreibman, Collected Poems of Thomas MacGreevy: An Annotated Edition (Anna Livia Press & The Catholic University of America Press, 1991), p.3. Back to text.

25 Memoirs, p.382. Back to text.

26 Field Artillery Training: 1914, p.230. Back to text.

27 Wyndham Lewis, Blasting and Bombardiering (Imperial War Museum, 1992), p.131. Back to text.

28 Lewis, p.133. Back to text.

29 John Terraine, White Heat: The New Warfare 1914-18 (Sidgwick & Jackson, 1982), p.149. Back to text.

30 MacGreevy is referring here to the dusk 'Stand-To', a parallel to the dawn 'Stand-To', the two times of day it was thought most likely for an enemy attack to be launched. Back to text.

31 Memoirs, pp.282-3. Back to text.

32 Field Artillery Training: 1914, p.1. Back to text.

33 Thomas MacGreevy's Army Service Record. Back to text.

34 Terraine, p.146. Back to text.

35 Terraine, p.213. Back to text.

36 Terraine, pp.213-4. Back to text.

37 Memoirs, p.394. Back to text.

38 Memoirs, pp.398-99. Back to text.

39 The Chigwellian (December 1918), p.29. My thanks also to Nick Deacon for his help in researching information on Geoffrey England Taylor. Back to text.

  Copyright 1995 Susan Schreibman.

Back to Index Back To Homepage Forward