WWI Andrews HAUNTING YEARS Commentaries of WAR TERRITORIAL Neuve Chapelle SOMME

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Seller: Top-Rated Seller dilapsus (6.910) 100%, Location: Flamborough, Yorkshire, Ships to: Worldwide, Item: 122104442306 Haunting Years The Commentaries of a War Territorial by William Linton Andrews This is the First Edition, circa 1930 William Linton Andrews was born in Hull in 1886 and educated at Hull Grammar School and Christ's Hospital. From the age of 16 he worked on a number of provincial newspapers, before serving in the Black Watch during the First World War. In 1919 he joined the Daily Mail, and was editor of the Leeds Mercury from 1923. When the newspaper amalgamated with the Yorkshire Post in 1939 he became Editor. He was knighted in 1954, and from 1956 to 1959 he was the first Chairman of the Press Council. He retired in 1960. Front cover and spine Further images of this book are shown below Publisher and place of publication Dimensions in inches (to the nearest quarter-inch) London: Hutchinson & Co. Ltd 5½ inches wide x 8¾ inches tall Edition Length There is no date of publication listed (common with Hutchinson volumes of this period) but this is the First Edition, circa 1930 288 pages Condition of covers Internal condition Original red cloth blocked in black. The covers are rubbed and suffer from fairly extensive patchy discolouration, particularly around the edges. The spine has faded noticeably with even but significant loss of colour. The spine ends and corners are bumped. The images below give a good indication of the current state of the covers. There is a previous owner's name inscribed and underscored heavily in inked capitals on the front pastedown. There is also an occasional ink mark in the margins (for example, page 79 below). However, overall, the text is clean throughout. The paper has tanned with age and the edge of the text block is foxed. The end-papers are browned and discoloured. Dust-jacket present? Other comments No The covers are discoloured and faded and there is some occasionally heavy edge-foxing; however, the text is clean and the First Edition is now scarce. Illustrations, maps, etc Contents NONE : No illustrations are called for Please see below for details Post & shipping information Payment options The packed weight is approximately 600 grams. Full shipping/postage information is provided in a panel at the end of this listing. Payment options : UK buyers: cheque (in GBP), debit card, credit card (Visa, MasterCard but not Amex), PayPal International buyers: credit card (Visa, MasterCard but not Amex), PayPal Full payment information is provided in a panel at the end of this listing. Haunting Years Contents I Bundling Into The Army II Off To France III Novices Under Fire IV The Battle Of Neuve Chapelle V A Great Lesson VI Cruelty To Children VII Back Among Civilians VIII The Growing Strain IX Tightening Up Our Discipline X The Spirit Of Youth XI In No Man's Land XII The Battle Of Festubert XIII Joys And Sorrows XIV Death Of My Friend XV My War Wedding XVI 25th September, 1915 XVII After The Battle XVIII A Battalion Orderly-Room XIX The Solemn Man XX Commissions And Staff Jobs XXI Battling With A Blizzard XXII We Meet The Australians XXIII Off To The Somme XXIV The Schwaben XXV On To Ypres XXVI We Must Go On XXVII A Major Reported Mad XXVIII The Ancient Inhabitant XXIX A Sea Of Stinking Mud XXX My New Chums XXXI Life In The Old Dog Yet XXXII Thirty-Six Hours' Fighting XXXIII Trouble With Conscripts XXXIV Two Hundred Gas Casualties XXXV Life-Lines In The Mud XXXVI A Row About Rations XXXVII I Fight A Madman XXXVIII Anxieties Of A Cadet XXXIX Fun At Gailes XL An Outspoken Officer XLI Spanish Influenza XLII The Beginning Of The End XLIII Thanksgiving Haunting Years A Foreword We Forget Because We Must I CALL them haunting years, for nothing in our time will haunt us like the War. Our dead comrades live on in our thoughts, appeal-ingly, as if afraid to be forgotten. Peace came, but not at once for those who survived. The War pressed down on some of us like a doom for years after the last shot was fired. I was luckier than most, but three years as an infantryman in France had worn me down. For some years after the War, like many, many others who had been there a long time, I woke almost every night in terror from a nightmare of suffocation by gas, or of being trapped by a bombardment from which I ran this way and that, or of fighting a bayonet duel with a gigantic Prussian Guardsman. The specialists told me the best thing I could do was to forget the War and build up with hearty feeding—porridge, apples with their skins, potatoes with their jackets, oatmeal cakes, wholemeal bread. The advice on diet jumped with my humour. I craved for things rich and greasy and feeding. When I was coming home from the trenches on leave it was always sausages and eggs and tomatoes fried together that I longed for most. And one of the happiest moments of the peace for me was when we were at last allowed to go to a dairy and drink a glass of milk straight off. The specialists approved heartily. But the other part of the specialists' advice, to forget the War: how was I to do that? How could any of us? By what effort of will could I blot out the memory of those years of flame and death, and of life in trenches that were like clay graves, and often were graves, and of wounded men trampled to death in Somme mud by a panic rush, and of seeing men killed horribly by shells, or going mad under the murderous strain. I did my best to forget. There were hundreds of letters I had sent home. I burned nearly every one of them. There were my War diaries. There were souvenirs, maps, battalion orders, German badges, the usual trophies and mementoes. I put them away in a worn-out trunk. I had hoped to write the War history of my battalion, but it had become a task far beyond the scope of one obscure eye-witness in the ranks. It could be done only by a patient historian with access to all the official records. So for a long while I wrote no more about the War. Time has healed many wounds and many minds. To-day, like many others, I am trying to remember the War I have tried so hard to forget. For I want very much to tell you about my comrades great-hearted comrades — many of whom did not come home. They wanted to be remembered, not as pale ghosts, but as honest, suffering soldier lads. Can I make some of them live again? Please God, I will try. This will be my own story. I shall tell it because it is also the story of thousands upon thousands of others, not in particulars, but in broad essentials. You must forgive me for being often hazy about dates, brigade, divisions, and map references. When we were busy fighting there was no time for letter-writing or keeping a diary. True, I did make some record hour by hour of the battle of Neuve Chapelle. I was intensely anxious to record how a man felt in battle. We have all a good idea of it now, having read so many stories of the War, and talked with so many men who were in action. But it was as big an adventure as death itself then. Being an old reporter, I had my litde note-book, and jotted down just how my heart began to dance with an excitement that was almost joy as the terrific bombardment opened out above us. It must have been a wonderful little record in its way, but the effort was wasted. When the battle had died out, after raging for three days, and we had had some sleep, I brought out my note-book and found the pencil had smeared illegibly through the sweat of our enormous burdens and the water in which we lay on the first night of rest. When I tried to remember it all it was impossible. I had gone through most of the battle like a sleep-walker. My story will be broken and incomplete. Perhaps, under the favouritism of memory, I shall seem to make myself a hero, though I never felt like one. I must disguise some names, and in other ways save needless pain to the friends of those who broke down. Perhaps I shall excite the scorn of old comrades by getting details wrong. But at least I can do something to show you the spirit of my old battalion. That is my eager ambition, to do justice to my friends, as I sit here, on a quiet afternoon, with old War diaries and photographs about me reminding me of things forgotten. I look out on a quiet garden, under a dappled sky. Soon tea will be brought, and my little dog will wake up and ask for a saucerful, well sweetened. Friends will come in. We shall talk of the Government's future, and of the Leeds City Council, politics, and of the new books. All will be warm, cosy, companionable. Incredible that only a few years ago I lay in a clay trench and thirsted for water on blazing midsummer days, and never thought to get back home! Incredible! Yes, we must recall and realize the War now, lest many of us forget it wholly. At the best it is only fragments of our experience we can put together again. Haunting Years Extract: . . . We were under heavy shrapnel almost all the way. At one point we had to rush across the open under fire. Whilst I was running my water-bottle broke loose, and I lost it, but I did not stop to pick it up. The trenches were horribly jammed, and theories of the wounded Seaforths and Gurkhas want ing to get past was piteous. But our orders were clear. We had to force ourselves forward. There was no stopping to exchange a friendly word with some poor cripple who wanted help. Our bombers were in front of my section. A small shell—some called it a pip-squeak, a name not very familiar to us then—banged into the middle of them. Two of my friends, Jimmy Scott and Spark, were badly hurt, and Harley slightly. We were getting far more fire than we expected. Jerry was surprising us. We never thought we should have anything like this trouble to get to the front line. We were all wedged together in the trenches, men of different units, bombers, riflemen, runners, wounded, and dying. We were so thick at some points that if a shell came we could not crouch down. We of the Black Watch elbowed our way ruthlessly to the front. It was madness to stay there in that jammed trench, and be shelled to pieces. When we came to the front line, or near it, there was more room, and we could lie at the bottom of the trench. Nick and I had kept together. A box of bombs had been left in our fire-bay. Nick pointed to it, laughing. I pushed it as far away from us as possible. There was nothing else to do but wait for orders. I brought out my little note-book and scribbled a few words. This was part of my entry at 3.30 p.m.: "Under bombardment. Nerve-racking medley of roar and clatter. We are lying as low as possible. From the bottom of the trench I can see white puffs (shrapnel in the sky), also dense yellow-brown clouds where German high-explosive shells strike near our trench. Overhead aeroplanes are like filmy silver-grey moths against the glorious sky. Rushing winds accompany the whooshing and whooping and whistling of the shells, and earth continually topples over into the trenches. Have just been struck by a piece of shell—only a scratch on my right hand." The bombardment continued for perhaps an hour. The German fire was vigorous and accurate. We were showered again and again by volcanoes of shell-torn earth. The call for stretcher-bearers never ceased. About four o'clock we moved forward to a trench close to the firing-line, and were still vigorously shelled. There came a check. Men were bunching in front. Nick and I dropped to our knees for cover. Something struck the earthen waill hardly six inches from our faces and burst. Our faces were blackened, but we were not hurt. Nick said afterwards it was a rifle-grenade, yet a rifle-grenade bursting six inches away from our heads must have killed us. We argued about it later but never came to a conclusion. It was one of those inexplicable escapes which came to every soldier. We now saw why our progress had been checked. A narrow trench was crowded with dead, dying, and ammunition. Each of us had to take a box of ammunition and push on to the front trench. Here, too, we were shelled, though not as vigorously as before. Evidently Jerry knew all about our crammed communication trenches, and was sowing death where it would reap the biggest harvest. We were still not wholly dispirited. We had still seen very little of the battle. Except for a brief dash, we had been in trenches the whole day, and had not seen one German. We did not know what had happened in front of us, except that obviously the German front line had not been taken. We sat down on the fire-bay to wait. Our platoon-officer came and sat with Nick and myself. " It looks bad," he said. " I don't believe our shrapnel's the slightest damned use for destroying trenches." The bombardment had slackened, and we had a peep into No Man's Land. I shall never forget the sight. This is the note I made of it at the time : " Ghastly spectacle of dead and wounded in a long line—'looking like sandbags', one man said. Our A Company had charged with the 4th Seaforths and lost heavily. They got ten yards from the parapet, and were mown aown by machine-guns that burst out simultaneously. The Indians had gone over and had suffered the same fate. There was the frightful smell of charred flesh from a casualty whose clothes had been set on fire by a shell." A runner came along with messages. Mr. Stutrock went to report to another officer. He came back with a stoical face. "Sorry, boys," he said, " we go over next." " Shall I tell the men?" I asked. He replied: " No, not yet. They'll know soon enough. Just see they've got bayonets fixed ready." Then he had another good look at No Man's Land. "Not an earthly," he said, meaning there was no chance that we could reach the German front line. It did not appear to be battered by our fire. A soldier who had fought in South Africa came to me and said: " My God. They're lying out there on the wire like our fellows at Magersfontein." We could hear the groans and curses of the wounded, and shouted to them that we would bring them in at dusk. An officer's servant, Private Smith, sprang over the parapet and went out to his master lying wounded, and stayed with him till the dark fell, but the rest of us were forbidden to try to succour our men. It was our job to go over next, and nothing else mattered. The order came to get ready. "I shall never see Forthill again," said Mr. Sturrock. That was the county ground where he had played cricket. Nick said to me with affected self-pity: "Isn't it a shame that we're going to have a wonderful experience that we can't put into print? I could write such a grand article on how it feels to die young." I was more practical. " Bags I that shell-pit in front where the two Seaforths are," said I. At that moment a high officer came rushing up. He had only just been able to get through the press. "My God!" he said. "Do you think yon Terriers are going to succeed where regulars have failed?" " Our orders are to go over," said Mr. Sturrock, quietly. "Then for God's sake cancel them," said the other officer. The word passed like a flash. There was no need to issue formal orders. We knew we were saved. Once again that day, by a million-to-one chance, we had been held back from death. We now busied ourselves looking after the wounded in our trenches, and prepared to go over into No Man's Land as soon as dusk gave a chance to retrieve the poor fellows out there. Later our front quietened somewhat, but far off we could hear the artillery hammering away. " I believe we've only done a feint," somebody said. " The big battle has been down south." It was not for a long time that we learnt the truth. We were intended to break the enemy line. We had more guns in proportion to the front of attack than we had had at Neuve Chapelle, but the artillery work did not come up to expectations. There was not enough high-explosive shell to destroy the fortresses the German trenches had now become. Ammunition was largely defective, and our guns had deteriorated through heavy use at Ypres and Neuve Chapelle. The first attack of the Indian Corps at 6 a.m. had been a ghastly failure. The 1st Division on their right had had no better luck. A fresh attack was made, but was a complete failure. There was a stream in No Man's Land that was too deep to wade, and there were only a few tiny bridges over it, some of them broken, and others blocked with the bodies of those who had been killed and wounded. The German machine-gun fire that day had the easiest task to be imagined. Please note: to avoid opening the book out, with the risk of damaging the spine, some of the pages were slightly raised on the inner edge when being scanned, which has resulted in some blurring to the text and a shadow on the inside edge of the final images. Colour reproduction is shown as accurately as possible but please be aware that some colours are difficult to scan and may result in a slight variation from the colour shown below to the actual colour. In line with eBay guidelines on picture sizes, some of the illustrations may be shown enlarged for greater detail and clarity. IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR PROSPECTIVE BUYERS U.K. buyers: To estimate the “packed weight” each book is first weighed and then an additional amount of 150 grams is added to allow for the packaging material (all books are securely wrapped and posted in a cardboard book-mailer). The weight of the book and packaging is then rounded up to the nearest hundred grams to arrive at the postage figure. I make no charge for packaging materials and do not seek to profit from postage and packaging. Postage can be combined for multiple purchases. Packed weight of this item : approximately 600 grams Postage and payment options to U.K. addresses: Details of the various postage options (for example, First Class, First Class Recorded, Second Class and/or Parcel Post if the item is heavy) can be obtained by selecting the “Postage and payments” option at the head of this listing (above). Payment can be made by: debit card, credit card (Visa or MasterCard, but not Amex), cheque (payable to "G Miller", please), or PayPal. Please contact me with name, address and payment details within seven days of the end of the auction; otherwise I reserve the right to cancel the auction and re-list the item. Finally, this should be an enjoyable experience for both the buyer and seller and I hope you will find me very easy to deal with. If you have a question or query about any aspect (postage, payment, delivery options and so on), please do not hesitate to contact me, using the contact details provided at the end of this listing. International buyers: To estimate the “packed weight” each book is first weighed and then an additional amount of 150 grams is added to allow for the packaging material (all books are securely wrapped and posted in a cardboard book-mailer). The weight of the book and packaging is then rounded up to the nearest hundred grams to arrive at the shipping figure. I make no charge for packaging materials and do not seek to profit from shipping and handling. Shipping can usually be combined for multiple purchases (to a maximum of 5 kilograms in any one parcel with the exception of Canada, where the limit is 2 kilograms). Packed weight of this item : approximately 600 grams International Shipping options: Details of the postage options to various countries (via Air Mail) can be obtained by selecting the “Postage and payments” option at the head of this listing (above) and then selecting your country of residence from the drop-down list. For destinations not shown or other requirements, please contact me before bidding. Tracked and "Signed For" services are also available if required, but at an additional charge to that shown on the Postage and payments page, which is for ordinary uninsured Air Mail delivery. Due to the extreme length of time now taken for deliveries, surface mail is no longer a viable option and I am unable to offer it even in the case of heavy items. I am afraid that I cannot make any exceptions to this rule. Payment options for international buyers: Payment can be made by: credit card (Visa or MasterCard, but not Amex) or PayPal. I can also accept a cheque in GBP [British Pounds Sterling] but only if drawn on a major British bank. Regretfully, due to extremely high conversion charges, I CANNOT accept foreign currency : all payments must be made in GBP [British Pounds Sterling]. This can be accomplished easily using a credit card, which I am able to accept as I have a separate, well-established business, or PayPal. Please contact me with your name and address and payment details within seven days of the end of the auction; otherwise I reserve the right to cancel the auction and re-list the item. Finally, this should be an enjoyable experience for both the buyer and seller and I hope you will find me very easy to deal with. If you have a question or query about any aspect (shipping, payment, delivery options and so on), please do not hesitate to contact me, using the contact details provided at the end of this listing. Prospective international buyers should ensure that they are able to provide credit card details or pay by PayPal within 7 days from the end of the auction (or inform me that they will be sending a cheque in GBP drawn on a major British bank). Thank you. (please note that the book shown is for illustrative purposes only and forms no part of this auction) Book dimensions are given in inches, to the nearest quarter-inch, in the format width x height. Please note that, to differentiate them from soft-covers and paperbacks, modern hardbacks are still invariably described as being ‘cloth’ when they are, in fact, predominantly bound in paper-covered boards pressed to resemble cloth. Fine Books for Fine Minds I value your custom (and my feedback rating) but I am also a bibliophile : I want books to arrive in the same condition in which they were dispatched. For this reason, all books are securely wrapped in tissue and a protective covering and are then posted in a cardboard container. If any book is significantly not as described, I will offer a full refund. Unless the size of the book precludes this, hardback books with a dust-jacket are usually provided with a clear film protective cover, while hardback books without a dust-jacket are usually provided with a rigid clear cover. The Royal Mail, in my experience, offers an excellent service, but things can occasionally go wrong. However, I believe it is my responsibility to guarantee delivery. If any book is lost or damaged in transit, I will offer a full refund. Thank you for looking. Please also view my other listings for a range of interesting books and feel free to contact me if you require any additional information Design and content © Geoffrey Miller Condition: A detailed description of this item's current condition is given in the listing below but please do not hesitate to contact me (gm@flamboroughmanor.co.uk) if you require any further information., Author: William Linton Andrews, Format: Hardback, Non-Fiction Subject: History & Military, Language: English, Date of Publication: 1900-1949, Special Attributes: 1st Edition, Place of Publication: London, Sub-subject: First World War, Binding: Hardback, Year Printed: c1930, Publisher: Hutchinson & Co. Ltd

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