THE YPRES TIMES
84
IN the July, 1933, edition of the Ypres Times, I described John Brown's last day "on
the Somme in 1916, and here I propose to give a short account of his last day in
the Salient.
Having made a good recovery from his wounds, he returned to the front as an officer
in a north-country regiment during the first week of June, 1917. After a few days of
discomfort in the hot sandy desert of Etaples, where time was divided between the Bull
Ring and a very indifferent Mess, varied by the thrill of two violent thunderstorms and
news of the Battle of Messines, he received orders to join his battalion. He found them
enjoying a rest in a French village after having had a rough time at Arras. This was
a pleasant change after the trials of Etaples, and although it did not last long, he enjoyed
every minute of it. The hot weather continued, and the march up towards Ypres was
carried out during the small hours of the morning, spread over three or four days but
even so it tried many of the men, and Brown often carried three or four rifles slung over
his shoulder. After nearly a year away from the line he found a great difference in the
physique and stamina of the men, and when at the end of the march he was ordered to-
take the crocks to the Divisional General for inspection, under the eyes of the Flemish
peasants, he did not appreciate his task.
That summer was spent on the new front at Wytschaete. The battalion was in the
attack of July 31st, the first day of the third Battle of Ypres, and otherwise was in and
out of the line in the usual monotonous fashion. A pleasant feature of the summer was
a rest in the woods of Kemmel Hill, with a wonderful view of the German lines and the
country beyond. Towards the end of September the Division took over another sector
to the north, and Brown's battalion found itself in tunnels near Hill 60. These were most
depressing places, with the pumps continually at work clearing the water, but they could
not clear the atmosphere, which was certainly not conducive to good health. The shells
regularly thudded on the earthen roof, and in one portion had penetrated it, but on the
whole it was a safe spot, which, however, was not to afford shelter to Brown for very
long. During the evening of the 24th September, he received instructions from his C.O.
to proceed at 2 o'clock the following morning with a Sergeant and twenty men, led by a
guide, to the front line with trench mortar ammunition, which must be delivered without
fail.
Punctually at 2 a.m. on the 25th, the little party crawled through the entrance to
the tunnel on their way to the dump. It was very dark, and this probably caused their
troubles to begin early, as the guide soon announced that he had lost his way. After
considerable time had been wasted in groping about, a duck-board track was struck, and
the guide reported that he was now on the right road for the dump, although Brown
did not feel too confident. However, right or wrong, they were destined never to see that
dump. Before long shells began to burst around them and officer and sergeant were kept
busy in preventing the men from scattering. Orders were orders, and it was imperative
that the ammunition must be got to the front line, so Brown had no thought of retreat.
In any event, there was no cover, and it seemed as dangerous to go back as to go forward.
The shells fell faster and, faster, and soona blinding flash, and Brown found himself
lifted off his feet and deposited on his back on a disordered heap of duck-boards. The
sergeant was wounded, but on his feet, while others lay dead and wounded around. The
completion of his task was now impossible, Brown ordered the unwounded to return to
headquarters, and to come back with stretchers, by which time the shelling would probably
have ceased. On either side of the wounded officer lay a man groaning, and he now turned
his attention .to them. The one on his right told him that his leg was blown off, and the
poor fellow was right. Before long he became delirious, begging Brown not to go without
him, adding "You have always been a good friend to me, Mr. Brown, and so has
Mr.He died the following night in the C.C.S. On the left lay groaning a mere boy,
