1915-03-25tt

 

“Word was received here today telling of how Lieut. Reginald Forneret, the young Hamilton officer, was wounded at Neuve Chapelle.”

Hamilton Spectator.    March 24, 1915.

Lieutenant Forneret had been hit by a piece of shrapnel during heavy shelling. Not long after his arrival at a hospital in Shorncliffe, England, he was interviewed by a newspaper correspondent, whose report follows :

“ ‘It is positively uncanny how the Germans find out where the different regiments are located,’ said Lieut. Forneret. “Any of you fellows from Winnipeg?’ called a German one day as one battalion went in. ‘My brother has a farm just outside Winnipeg.’

“ The same officer had an exciting adventure one night when reconnoitering between the trenches. A ghastly blue flare ball of the Germans almost fell on him, and revealed his presence to the enemy, so that he had to duck don. He crawled one whole hour among the dead men and horses, with bullets occasionally falling around him, before he regained his trenches.

“ This was the night before Neuve Chapelle. “The roar of the British bombardment prior to the great advance was simply frightful,’ he said. ‘The Germans’ first trenches were demolished.’ ”¹

¹ “Forneret Had Thrilling Time : Crawled for an Hour Among Dead Horses and Men.

Hamilton Spectator.     March 24, 1915.

In the very next day’s Hamilton Spectator, readers learned more of the young lieutenant’s life in the trenches as Archdeacon Forneret made available a letter he and Mrs. Forneret had just received from his son:

“Dearest Mother – We have just been eating your cake in this latest billet. It is some cake, for which we all join in a hearty vote of thanks. The country has been so shot to pieces that we tried for a week to round up some cake, but the people are so put to it to get the necessaries that cake is unheard of.

“We live rather like pigs – comfortable pigs – in this billet. I haven’t had all my clothes off for so long that I hate to think of it, and it is so long since I have had a real bath that, well, will let it go at that.

“We had three days’  trip from England over the Bay of Biscay, and ran into a mud bank, where we thumped about in the swell for some time, with tugs valiantly trying to get us off., till they were several times nearly swamped. We broke both anchor chains and had rather fun. We landed amidst a friendly demonstration of the populace of the small French port, who gave our chaps oranges and cigarettes and all sorts of things.

“I had to take two platoons off and wait over a day and follow the battalion. It was my first real military responsibility, and I, along with the junior sub, managed to get through all right.

“Now, as to the trenches : You will want to know just exactly what it is like, so I will tell you my first experience.

“We were warned that we were for the trenches, and in the evening we marched up to a certain protected spot as a half battalion. From there we advanced  by platoons, with a guide each. We heard the big guns, of course, for the week past. Well, we adopted a precautionary formation, and, in absolute silence, with the guide and myself at the head, we came over the bro of the hill toward the trenches.

“It was a clear, moonlit night, and there was a wide, shallow valley in front of us. Here and there were single rows of tall tress and the rest was more or less vague – just a moonlit country side.

“Now and then, a flare would curve up lie a Roman candle, throwing an eerie white light. Then, about four hundred yards ahead, I could discern how low-lying lights, here and there along an indistinct line, which I realized was the back of our trenches.

“Suddenly, from the other side of the valley – Crack ! a rifle shot, and a bullet sang past my nose and buried itself with a spat in the mud close by. Of course, I ducked, and my ‘tummy’ tied up in a knot. I know a German sniper was after us.

“However, we went on, although I would rather have been in any other place in the world than on the flat, moonlit, unprotected hillside. Then, another bullet went over my head. It mewed like a kitten with a sound that stabbed right down my spine.

“One of our machine guns ripped out, and the sniping stopped. It was a great relief when we got into the trenches at last.

“The trenches are very much like the pictures you see of them. They are a conglomeration of sandbags, timbers, dug outs and mud. They are ankle-deep in water, but planked in places. They are rather dismal at night, and there is a queer smell of overworked and not quite efficient chloride of lime and things. You see, they cannot bury the dead cows and horses in front of the trenches.

“The dug outs are most uncomfortable, for one cannot take off one’s wet, freezing boots, and the walls and ceilings drip with moisture and cold – clammy cold, that sets one shivering to the marrow. One lies awake and waits for morning. Most of the sleeping is done in the daytime, the nights being used for work.

“The first time we were in the trenches, we were among regular officers and soldiers to learn the game.

“It was very queer having dinner in the cellar of a ruined house with a lot of muddy, cheerful, affable fellows who turned out, on inquiry, to be Lord So-And-So and Sir So-And-So, and recent B. C.’s and D. S. O.’s. But they were just officers – Billy or Tubbs – and mighty good fellows., I can tell you. And the nerve of them! I was amazed at the cool way they talked of going out in listening posts and putting up wire, sixty or eighty yards in front of our trench.

“They laugh and joke about everything, as do the Tommies, and simply don’t allow themselves to think of things. I was awfully shocked at our first casualty. I had just, for the hundredth time, warned one of our young sergeants not to look over the parapet with his glasses, and had turned away, when someone gasped, ‘My God, look at Knights.’ I hurried back and there he was. He was shot fair through the head and went out in a few minutes. I was badly shaken and pretty sick, I can tell you. It was the poor chap’s own fault, but we have been even more cautious during the daytime since. It is extraordinary how one gets hardened to horrors that would absolutely unnerve one in ordinary life.

“It is a difficult to find time to write long letters, so I’ll close for the present. We² are in jolly little billets, and our stove is laden with bubbling pots and we are sitting about smoking and writing. I saw Easterby for a moment yesterday. He is very fit, and asked to be remembered.

“If you could manage a few “Cravens’ and an occasional cake, it would help the situation materially. From what I hear from you and others, a whole mail of my letters has gone astray, because I have written to all the family about the fine Christmas they gave me. I wrote them all in bed after Christmas. Charlie’s apples were splendid. We did them more than justice. If any friends say that I haven’t acknowledged their kindness, tell them that I carefully went over the list, and, to the best of my knowledge, I covered the lot.

“It is funny how used we get to the big guns. As I shave in the mornings, the concussion makes the walls jump so that my mirror shakes and joggles. The great shells go roaring overhead and we go quietly on shaving.

“This village is a scene of desolation and ruin as you see in horrible nightmares. The echoing streets, and houses with great holes blown in them, are very mournful. However, we are all very cheerful. What I want just now is some fine, clean linen, my dress clothes and my family. We should worry. Eh, what?

“Love to all.                                      REG. ²

² “Calmly Shave as Big Guns Are Roaring : One Soon Gets Hardened to Horrors of War.”

Hamilton   Spectator.   March 26, 1915.