MARCH TWENTY-ONE!
Nightmare Memory of the Great German Attack.
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THE JOURNAL OF THE YPRES LEAGUE.
Vol. 3. No. 6.
Published Quarterly.
April, 1927
By THE OLD STAGER.
March 21st, 1918, is a date which, while life lasts, will be remembered by those
members cf the Third and Fifth Armies who were in the line or close behind it when
Germany's last despairing effort released sixty-four divisions on fifty-four miles of British
front, held with available resources of twenty-nine infantry and three cavalry divisions.
The attack was not unexpected. It had been awaited for some weeks, was known
to be imminent. On the 19th and 20th peculiar activity was observed, peculiar noise
heard, behind the enemy lines. On the 21st, a damp fog, herald of bright, cold weather,
smothered the light in the eastern skv, when, shortly before five o'clock, a deafening
bombardment burst out along the whole front.
A million sleepers awoke and knew that, the hour of trial had come at last.
A little section of the Fifth Army front, east of Peronne, linked two ruined villages,
Le Verguier and Yendelles. A cushy bit of line it had been all winter, and many a
tired brigade staff \vas glad to take up its headquarters at Smallfoot Wood," where the
courtesy of the Germans allowed the occupation of a set of comfortable Nisson huts.
No need here for living like rabbits the country was pleasant, rolling down-land,
and the brigade major, visiting one of the battalion commanders at Le Verquier or
Yendelles, sometimes carried a shot gun with him and enhanced his reputation in the
general's- eyes by returning with a brace of partridges for dinner.
In January, none would have .supposed that any hostile move was expected. There
were 110 reserve lines and few working parties. Telephone wires ran above ground, and
in the little ruined home town," Roisel, which served this section, men went about
their business unhurried and at peace. Day after day, staff cars crossed the wooden
bridge which spanned the Somme at Brie en route for Amiens and the shops of Felix
Pontin.
It was a different matter by the end of February. Between Peronne and Roisel a man
might think himself in Babelgangs of men of every race, language and colour, worked
hard and gabbled shrilly. A pitiful defence line east of the river began to show a shallow
indentation close behind the ftont. The telephone cables were buried forward from
brigade headquarters and signal officers took over their new exchanges in the earth's
bowels.
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