The following pen picture of a battle in Flanders (says The Register) formed part of a letter written by a South Australian, Acting-Sgt, M. Melvin, to his brother, Mr H. Melvin, of the Irrigation Department, Mypolonga, (formerly engaged on the Government bore at Kingscote).
The extract begins where he carried his description to the final moments before ' going over the top ' : —
" The last ten minutes is the worst, and a fellow gets a bit thoughtful, and old memories and the people he left in Australia crowd in on him. I felt alright and somehow knew I wouldn't be killed ; but I had about 19 narrow shaves in 30 minutes, and it is all pure luck. With a few minutes to go I scraped the mud off my rifle and bayonet, tightened my gear with its 150 rounds, and I had six Mills bombs, three in each side pocket. Our officer's last action was to give me a red flare, just a plain cylindrical paper containing red powder, to be lit when we had gained our position. Our aeroplanes would see it and signal our artillery to lift their fire on to the next Hun ' possy.'
At precisely 5.50 the side of hell fell right out (30 yards in front of us), as our artillery for miles behind us sent thousands of shells which burst over our heads or just in front, in perfect line. The burst crept forward in one uncanny straight line, and we got up and followed as the awful explosives ate up everything as the barrage went forward.
The accuracy of modern artillery is marvellous. For two to 10 miles back thousands of guns for, say, 15 miles dropped shells of all sorts and sizes 40 yards in front of us, just as a bowler lobs a 'yorker.' The noise was deafening. They say we had 2,000 guns per mile, firing as fast as they could load; and the 18-pounder can fire 15 shells a minute. The bursts were chewing up the ground and flinging trees and muck 100ft. into the air, and we walked slowly behind the show. I was right in front, and felt awed, but it was great, it was such a fascinating sight.
The machine guns were going like 7,000,000 typists trying to catch the mail. We kept looking straight up ; and if you see your own shrapnel bursting there you are right, but if it bursts behind you then you get it in the neck and they bury you a week or a month later, if they can collect you or enough of you to fill a hole. I soon pass dead Huns and three or four smashed machine guns. The smoke and stench of explosives was strong.
On we walked over, in or around shell-holes and barbed wire. Fritz started dropping his shells into us in a silly, erratic way. A burst 10 yards to the left blew me into a shell hole full of mud and barbed wire. I was all right but my pants were torn to bits, pultice too ; and I looked like a stick of chocolate with my 14 days' beard and covered in mud. I got up and went forward among the crowd. Suddenly, through the smoke and haze I caught sight of the first Hun 'possy' with our shell bursting right on his concrete pill boxes.
—First 'Possy' Taken.—
" 'Into the — — —!' yelled a bit of a kid; and it was soon ours— or what was left of it. Three Fritzes put up a game 10 seconds' scrap. One, an officer, fired at me, I think, and hit a chap beside me through the arm. I flung a bomb and about 17 of us fired at once. Anyhow the whole three of them were much carved up when we got to them. The pillbox was burst to bits, cigars every where, and we all sat down and had a smoke ; and of course the boys went through all the nooks and crannies for souvenirs. Huns were rooted out of dugouts, and hundreds were marched back to the barbed-wire cages in the rear. They were all ' ratted ' for belts and buttons by the boys. Everybody 'rats,' 'if you don't take a belt the next chap will,' is the motto. I got a lovely auto-matic pistol from near a German officer lying dead. I gave it to our Colonel later on as he had lost his.
Meanwhile the artillery was belting the stomach out of the second 'possy' and all of a sudden we all went forward with a yell and collared that. We got hundreds of prisoners and a lot of tucker and lager beer. There was a bit of bayonet practice by some of the old Anzacs. I felt just like the rest of the boys and we all had our blood up. The last ' possy' was a dinger ; but Fritz had all the stuffing out of him, and as our shells had cut off his retreat and his reinforcements, we soon had that and hundreds of men. We had advanced a mile and a quarter, and had done the job like clockwork. Lots of Hun machine guns were soon turned round and fired the other way by our boys.
I came back a mile and found our platoon, and we dug in for our lives, for Fritz always counter-attacks and rushes up huge bodies of men by his marvellous system of small railways. It was 2 p.m. ere we had rigged up our ditch, or linked up the series of shell holes. Then we had a feed — the first for 13 hours. Biscuits as hard as steel—' Anzac wafers' we call 'em — and bully beef.
Our platoon was only half-strength when we started to dig in, but they came back in ones and twos till all arrived but eight or nine. Only one officer and two men had been killed up to then, the other six or seven wounded. Fritz attacked in mass at dusk and 'came a gutzer,' which is A.I.F. for failure. Our guns and machine guns piled him up in heaps 50 yards from our forward posts and the rest ' got'
—"A Quiet Night."—
" That night was quiet, but we kept our heads down as Fritz was sweeping the tracks and our lines with machine gun and sniper bullets. Bullets make all sorts of queer noises. I was on the lookout twice during the night, standing with my steel hat just showing— ducking now and then you bet. Away over the other side of the wood Fritz was massing for a counter-attack before dawn. He was bringing up troops in motor lorries. I could see them four miles away and a lot of our 'planes were pouring bullets into them. 'Planes at night are nasty. He attacked at dawn and ' came another gutzer,' as we caught him in the open, and the shells tore him to bits, and he bolted back, some of him.
—Aerial Navies.—
"The day broke clear and beautiful, and the sky was soon full of our 'planes and his. I am not exaggerating wben I say I saw at least 2,000 aeroplanes in the air. There are all sorts from the small scout to the huge bomb dropper, which is three or four times the size of a scout. The scouts keep low or wateh for enemy 'planes coming over or look for surprise attacks and signal the guns. They are very last, and can fly 150 miles an hour. The spotting, observation and photographing 'planes are higher up, crowds of them. The fighting 'planes are away up thousands of feet, hundreds dodging in and about the clouda, doing marvellous things, tumbling and twisting, and working their deadly machine guns at each other. We lay all the morning watching them, and I saw many come down, some out of control, others on fire, others crashing in a heap of fragile wreckage. Of course the airmen get smashed to bits when they crash with the heavy engine, which causes the machine to bury itself feet deep in the mud. It is an awfully deadly game.
Thirty of Fritz's 'planes came over us in a bunch, taking photos of our positions in the mud and amusing himself emptying his machine guns into our trenches. We knew that sooner or later his artillery would open up on us when he had got the ranges from the aerial photos. He slung over shells most of the day, and our guns were continually pasting him. The air is always full of whines, whistles and screeches as shells go over both ways. At 4 p.m. he opened up on us, and had five big observation balloons looking down from two or three miles away, correcting the ranges. He must have had scores of guns at us.
Crash ! and a 5.9-in. shell would explode 20 yards behind, the next 10 yards to the right, and so on. He was using all sorts of stuff, and our guns were trundling in their thousands in reply. It is an awful row, and the air is full of one long whining rush as the shells go over. White, brawn, and black clouds of shrapnel were all above, the deadly fragments of steel, whistling and moving about us. We lay low and hugged the bottom of our trench. It seemed a miracle that our trench of 40 or 50 yards had escaped, and still it went on, very nerve racking.
A shell burst three-yards from my head and covered me in mud and filth, and then another did the same five yards to the left. I got covered in mud four times and my head was ringing with the concussion. I was right at the end of the ' possy,' and got orders to evacuate and get several hundreds of yards to the rear. They ran for it, through the shells, in twos and threes, and I stayed on. He was now shelling us from three sides with guns three to 10 miles away. There were about 10 of us left when there was an almighty crash about 20ft. up. I yelled twice, and two mates came crawling towards me. I was sitting with my hands hugging my knees, and couldn't move ; for a jagged piece of high explosive shrapnel casing had just cleared the top of the trench and got me. I gazed fascinated at my injured right hand, but felt no pain in the hand or the wounded thigh, only faintness. My pals laid me flat and started to bind me up.
—Brave Stretcher Bearers. —
" I felt all right after having drunk a bottleful of water, and as I lay smoking amid the din and crash I was happy to think I would soon be out of it all. I didn't think I was badly knocked. Suddenly a huge base of a shell plomped into the trench 4ft. from my feet, it must have weighed 801b., and would have plumped a a man to hash. After half an hour the sstretcher bearers came. They all deserve the V.C., for they go through everything. They had a bit of bother; lifting me out and over the top, and I made them laugh 'cause I said I could crawl out myself. We We had gone 30 yards when I was dropped by the front bearer. The back chap called out, ' What are you doing dropping the man ? Are you hit, Joe?' ' Yes,' says Joe. I was dropped in a large shell hole, and the front bearer was bound up by his mate—a chunk of shapnel had slashed his cheek open. After 10 minutes on we went. The brave fellows were both killed a week later.
I had to lie at the dressing station about an hour. Then on with fresh bearers, four of them, at the trot tor another mile; then four more, and then we were among our guns firing in their thousands. It was dusk now, but the whole country for miles was filled with stabs of flame, as our guns sent their shells over with a thundering bang. The guns do not cease day or night. I've heard the British artillery firing for four and a half months on end.
We went through a ruined town to a Canadian clearing station. I was doctored up a bit there and dispatched by Red Cross train to the coast— all-Australian Hospital, Queensland nurses. After the operation at the hospital I couldn't move an inch, but felt good, and it was all quiet and peaceful, and no eternal guns. I stayed four days here. We had chicken and jellies, and all were jolly and all 'Aussies.' We left Dover for Bristol, and got held up at London. Slowed if we were done with Fritz, for he was raiding London by moonlight, and we lay listening to the anti-aircraft guns banging at him. The train was in a cutting with all her lights out. We sang for three hours— at least the ' Aussies' did, for you can't keep an Australian quiet. Fancy men singing comic songs after having their legs off the day before! We reached Bristol at 1 a.m. ; nice girls gave us coffee and cakes, and away we went through the pitch-dark ancient city to my lovely home, where I stayed four months, coming in a wreck, and walking out without a stick. Now I am in camp at Weymouth, feeling very nicely, thanks. Am awaiting 14 days' furlough ere, I hope, sailing for ' Aussy.' "
Kangaroo Island Courier (Kingscote, SA : 1907 - 1951), Saturday 29 June 1918, page 6