Transcript of A.A. Dickson's Memoirs

Nearer Dublin we heard firing ahead and very high flames. Our C Company, spread out as advance-guard, came under fire near Ballsbridge from houses commanding our approach route. I was sent forward from D Company, forming rear of the column, with some information for the Colonel; while there, shots came from a house in the road-fork just ahead; B Company under Major Hanson (seriously wounded just after) kept up covering fire on the house while I broke in with a few bayonet-men but the rebels left by the back way. On retuning to D Company I heard that my friend  Hawken [7] had been killed in attacking a house at a cross-road farther on. That house was blown in with bombs and the rebels gradually gave back from house to house as we advanced by rushes with some cover from trees along the kerbs, with bullets of all sorts chipping pavements and gate-posts; one chipped the bark one side of a tree as I left it. Another must have ricochetted off the pavement and struck end-on into my Field Service Pocket Book in a side pocket, but I never noticed it till afterwards. [see left]

Some wonderful nurses from a Dublin hospital appeared from ahead, walking into the thick of it and helping the wounded. We had to bomb a school building that the rebels were holding, and one of my men, Irvine, did some good throwing, right through the  windows.

A tall  house beyond the bridge was commanding our further advance; it was rushed by Foster, senior subaltern of D Company; their bombs set the gas alight and burnt the house out. Opposition died down after that, and I got most of D & C Companies together by the canal, C having lost all their officers. Capt. Cooper, O.C. D Company, posted pickets on the tops of houses covering our front. We had a brief rest in a house where people had helped us with information etc. (we had to sort out friends and enemies as we reached the houses) and before dawn I had just got back from a round of the pickets facing Merrion Square (the nearest point we got to our objective of Trinity College) when the Staffords [8] were sent to relieve us and we tramped back to near Ballsbidge and slept on the pavements in relays off duty till we had a chance of breakfast.

Field kitchens had followed us up ‘and gave what they could. I was just seeing to the Company’s rations when Capt. Cooper told me “Dick, get along and have some breakfast: that old boy has got some food in his house there.” I said “Isn’t there anything I can do here, sir?” He snapped “Do what you’re told”, and as I did so he called after me “That’s a damn silly question, isn’t it?” This kind old gentleman (the Irishman, I mean, not Cooper: they both were) had set his household frying rations galore for a first batch of us, with a second relay for Cooper and the others.

The Battalion had about 80 killed &  wounded; the remainder marched round the south suburbs,  with some skirmishing, and spent next night in the quadrangle of Kilmainham Hospital.  We were paraded for congratulations by Gen. Sir John Maxwell on our work – our first active service – in the difficult job of street fighting. Then, in my first free time, I set to work to write to Hawken’s people in London;  Lamb, the other subaltern coming from the Inns of Court with H. & me, was severely wounded (eventually killed in France in March 1918); all I got was the bullet lodged in my Pocket Book.

After another few days of clearing up the western suburbs, Capt. Cooper and I with most of D Company were detailed to escort a batch of captured rebels to Knutsford  Gaol in Cheshire. We marched them to North Wall Quay, sailed that night to Holyhead and went by a special through train to Knutsford taking every precaution en route to keep them in & keep enquiring people away. We handed over our correct number to the Governor, Capt. Gillson, who while he took them over from Cooper, left me with his young nephew all agog to talk to someone “straight from the fighting”. I kept awake while doing so, but did not manage that after a wonderful lunch (our first square meal for days) when in a comfortable chair in Mrs Gillson’s drawing-room. I was only roused by the tinkle of tea-cups and tried to make shamefaced apologies to our hostess and some other most charming ladies she had invited in to entertain us; but they were very kind and understanding. Then we had to take our own men back – no through train provided for that and we had to make the best of our way, battered-looking & weary enough to be cheered as we trudged through Chester to get another train to Holyhead.

Landing at Kingstown in the dawn, we found transport doubtful but eventually crowded into trucks for Dublin and marched to rejoin the Battalion, just in time for fresh moves – the Colonel telling us we had had more chance of a sleep on the boat than anyone else had had. We circled round the suburbs of Dublin, clearing up odd patches of resistance, still sleeping when we could on pavements for a week or so, and then we were accommodated in Richmond Barracks, where a military court was trying the principal prisoners.

I had to do most of the daily inspection of the prisoner’s quarters (crowded into barrack rooms) as Foster had had to take command of B Company and the only other subaltern in D had been detailed as a messenger for the court. While there I had to escort two important lady prisoners –  Countess Plunkett and the celebrated Countess Markiewicz [9] – to another prison. There was confusion as to how they were to be taken there: apparently they refused to go in a cab with any soldiers, and the army would not risk them in a cab unaccompanied for fear of escape or rescue. Eventually they agreed to walk under escort. Accordingly very early one morning, while curfew was still on under martial law, these two dignified and determined ladies were committed to my charge and set out, walking stoically along the middle of the dingy streets, with half-a-dozen soldiers in file keeping level with them on each pavement, others under N.C.O.s [10] ahead and behind, and myself half a pace behind them on their left; their stately deliberate pace was slow march for us, but my enquiries as to whether this rate of progress suited them were acknowledged only by a silent bow of the head. No incidents interrupted us and they were formally handed over to their fresh custodians.

The court-martial at Richmond Barracks sentenced many of the rebels to imprisonment and a number of the leaders to death. One evening five subalterns were ordered to command firing-parties to shoot five of them in Mountjoy Jail the following dawn. A kindly but strict old Major of one of the other Battalions gave detailed instructions to each of us: I was to march my firing-squad of a Sergeant and twelve men to a space cut off from the execution-point by a projecting wall; halt them to ground arms there; march them forward twelve paces to halt with their backs to their rifles each of which I was then to load and replace on the ground. Thus no man knew whether his rifle had been loaded with black or with ball; each was therefore left not knowing whether he personally had shot the man or not. The men were then marched back to pick up their rifles and hold them, at attention under my eye, until word came that the prisoner was to be led out; they must then be marched round and halted facing the execution wall.

A priest will accompany the prisoner, the Major told me, and as the priest leaves him, you give the orders –  Ready; Present; Fire.  Then, he emphasized, the men must not remain in sight of the prisoner: immediately you turn them about and march them back around the baffle wall. There they ground arms, you march them forward to halt facing away while you empty the breech of each rifle and collect the cartridge cases, all to be handed in after. Then march them back to pick up their rifles, clean them on the spot and the job is done.

We marched our squads to Mountjoy Prison long before dawn in a dismal drizzle, but the men with memories of our losses seemed to have no qualms as to doing the job.  “Pity to dirty all these rifles; why can’t we do him in with a bit of bayonet practice?”  We had to wait while it grew faintly light and I took the chance to instruct the squad exactly what orders they would get; I didn’t want any muddle about getting them back around that wall. “After ‘Ready’” I told them, “on the word ‘Present’, you bring your rifles smartly up to the standing-aim position, aiming at a piece of white paper pinned on his chest and on the word ‘Fire’, - steady pressure on the trigger, just like on the range.  Then, at once, I shall give you ‘Slope arms’ – ‘About Turn’; then as we clear this wall – ‘Right Incline’ – ‘Halt’  - ‘Ground Arms’”

Thanks to that preparation, it was carried out smoothly. The thirteen rifles went off in a single volley. The  rebel dropped to the ground like an empty sack; I barked out ‘Slope – ARMS:  About – TURN; Quick – MARCH’. They marched in perfect order round that wall, grounded arms, and I told them “Right: you made a good job of that, gentlemen”; remember, we had all lost some good pals in our first days’ active service. I can’t say I felt much else except that it was just another job that had to be done; though I was glad there was no doubt the rifles had done their work and there was no need for me to do what that old Major had told me, about the officer going back and finishing the job off with his revolver.

We continued rounding up rebels, working mainly from Portobello Barracks where we shared messing etc. with Dublin Fusiliers and detachments of other Irish regiments, and going out when any trouble was reported. We captured several Dublin underworld characters looting damaged shops; once we advanced on a considerable crowd threatening this and other damage; while doubling my platoon into position, I was interrupted by one of the men who complained that the Sergeant had abuse him rather improperly in giving him orders: I told him to keep that for later on, as at that moment Capt. Cooper, after warning the crowd to disperse, ordered me to fire one shot over their heads. I did so, taking careful aim at the girders of a railway bridge across the street beyond them, and they quickly disappeared.  Another evening, clearing the streets after curfew, we were defied by an elderly harridan belatedly leaving a porter-shop; evidently expert in resisting the Dublin Police she was a handful for two of our men until I told them to show her their bayonets; she went before them at once to the police Station. “You’ve got a nice way with the ladies,” Cooper remarked. Otherwise we had few incident, though we heard from other units of rebels being caught with fire-arms; one such was shot out of hand by some of the Irish troops; we heard of another leader similarly captured, who escaped shooting by claiming American citizenship: he gave the name of  de Valera [11] .

By a month after Easter, Dublin was quiet enough for our Division to be sent to oversee possible trouble-spots elsewhere, south, south-west, and west of Ireland. Our 7^th Batt. entrained for Oranmore, close to Galway in the far west, where we occupied the summer camping-ground of the Connaught Rangers.  There we spent the summer under canvas, training hard and feeding well, with few alarms. Our hopes of going to France were dashed by an order to send out a draft of trained men [12] and continue training replacements.

At the end of the summer, half the Battalion moved into Renmore Barracks in Galway; the other half, C & D Companies, marched across Ireland to Naas, near the Curragh, to a Barracks of the Dublin Fusiliers. As Physical Training Officer, I made a point of doing the whole journey in full marching order on foot, never riding a horse.  We were thoroughly fit after a week’s march, spending nights at Loughrea, Ballinasloe, Athlone, Clara, Tullamore, Portarlington and Kildare, passing the Curragh on the last day and seeing some of our other S.F. Batts. who were stationed there. The only incident en route was an attack on a Sergeant by two men at Clara where we spent a rest day; he defended himself with his bayonet and wounded one of the men. The civil authorities wanted to keep him there for a trial; as martial law was still in force over the whole of Ireland we held a  court-martial on the spot: I was junior officer of the court, with our Major and a Captain. We found clear evidence of attack by local bad characters, not badly hurt; and the Sergeant was cleared, having used least possible violence in self-defence.

Rather small beer, all this, but I’m putting it down as a record.

The evening after this Court Martial another attack on a man in my platoon was reported. On going to investigate, I found the man had been given a black eye by a local man in the street and was otherwise not much the worse. I was leaving when my Platoon Sergeant marched in two men at the point of his bayonet and put them in charge of the guard on duty; seeing me he reported them as being suspected of attacking our man. They protested their innocence of any connection with the affair; they seemed civil respectable men & I could get no definite evidence against them;  two local policemen appeared and, while not stating anything for or against the men, seemed ready to take them off our hands; I told the police to take them away & sent them home with a warning. Capt. Cooper agreed with me – least said soonest mended – and we made our report.  Otherwise we had a happy break at Clara, accommodated in the houses of most kind & charming local residents who did all they could for our comfort.

Rather small beer, all this apart from the actual Rebellion, but I’m putting it in by way of record and atmosphere. Except for the Sinn Feiners, the Irish people did all they could for us, even in Dublin during the Rebellion – gave us meals & beds when possible – typically “Irish”, most hospitable. In Galway they made all the officers hon. members of Clubs, arranged outings, shooting, tennis parties & cricket matches.  At Naas too they did all possible to give us a good time; rather “County” for some of our junior officers but very friendly & kind. I had several pleasant visits to make, as Mess President: riding out with Major Hanson to call on people who had left cards – once to a place a few miles out, where we rode up an immense avenue through a  park to the front of a huge deserted-looking house, where as we approached a groom appeared from nowhere and took the horses, the front door opened as we went up the steps, and we were ushered in for conversation and tea with the ladies of the family, all the men being on service; going with Charlton the Adjutant to tea with sundry ladies on the outskirts of the town, wives or widows of Colonels of the Dublins; being Chairman at a concert the townspeople got up for the troops.  Sometimes alarms took us out on patrols; one night I spent tramping along the railway line from piquet to piquet, on a rumour of trouble but nothing occurred, and after a shave in the Waiting Room I marched the detachment back to barracks.

I always had plenty to do all the time in Ireland. At Oranmore, as I preferred getting out to sitting in the Mess playing cards, I didn’t mind doing orderly duties when others wanted time off; and as Physical Training Officer I had bayonet-training assault-courses to plan, trench systems to supervise, boxing and other sports to arrange. Even the exacting Col. Fane called me “the busiest man in the Battalion” one evening when he seized on me to accompany him (as a tall A.D.C. to impress the Irish) on a visit to Galway; Galway races were in view, a few days ahead, but such events were out of bounds for the troops, in fear of disturbances. The Colonel’s call was on the Chief of Police, leading gently up to that subject of possible trouble; if the Supt. thought it might be useful, some of our troops could be made available just to be on the spot to be called upon if there should be need to check any bother. The Super thought it a very kind an helpful suggestion: very well then, say a Company – well perhaps a couple of Companies - ?  So A & B Companies were detailed for picquet duty about the course right from the first day of the Races, and C & d. on the second day and the whole Batt. managed to enjoy the Galway Races.

Country life in Ireland kept on its normal course much more than in England in war-time, and we enjoyed such breaks in the endless training that we kept on with, but all the time we were wondering when we would eve get to France; all the time news kept coming of people we had known going West [13] and we were sick of playing soldiers at home.

At Naas training was still more intensive, under the eye of Brigade and Division at the Curragh, and our half-battalion, below strength in officers, was often with still fewer as several would be away at once on various courses of instruction.  As well as being Mess President (which included catering and finance and being in charge of mess-staff) I had taken on the job of Barrack Warden, responsible for quarters and furniture; I was usually the one called upon to give lectures on rest days (which wee numerous in the Irish Winter) and often I was the only subaltern available as Orderly Officer, while being occasionally in temporary command of D Company; and as the Barracks had a well-equipped Gymnasium we has as much Physical Training as possible.

Col. Rayner brought the orders on a visit to Naas from Galway: he had taken over command of the Battalion when Col. Fane left us to command his old Regular Cavalry, the 12^th Lancers. Rayner had been Second-in-Command for years, father to the troops and Dutch uncle too. I never forgot an occasion at Oranmore when he was temporarily in command. Most of our 7^th Sherwood Foresters (known as the Robin Hoods) had come from Nottingham, but we got some drafts from Tyneside, some from Yorkshire, some south and west countrymen whose talk sounded more like home to me. They all got on well together, though this one evening I heard discord from one tent and on going to suppress it found a Yorkshireman half-drunk and fighting. Luckily the guard-tent was near in charge of a sound old Sergeant and at the magic words “Fall in two men” they marched him off. I went back to the Mess; Major Rayner demanded “What’s that noise in the camp? The Orderly Officer should have gone round-“

“I’ve been round, sir; there was a man drunk –“

“He should have been put in the guard-room”

“He has been put in the guard-room, sir”.

“He must have his boots taken away”.

“His boots have been taken away, sir”.

“Oh.  Very well then, Mr. Dickson.  He’ll have to come up tomorrow –“

“Yes, sir”.

That taking away of boots – the Army’s solicitude for taking out of a man’s way any temptation to aggravate his other insubordination, e.g. to throw his boots at the guard – was due not so much to any deep knowledge of King’s Regulations on my part as to the experience of the Sergeant of the Guard, who duly gave evidence, along with me, next morning. Rayner, in the Colonel’s absence, sat in judgement. How old? How long in the Army? Where from? Then “SMITH: have you got a mother?” “Yes, sir”.  “And what d’you think she’d feel if she knew you were up before me, for being drunk? She’d say the war was bad enough without that, wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t she?”  “Yes, sir”. “SMITH: if I let you off this time, will you sign the pledge? [14] ”

“Yes, sir”

“Very well.  Admonished”.

“He’s only a lad, that; he’ll turn out all right, Dickson,” he said afterwards.

He was very good with us young officers too, saving us from the wrath of Col. Fane when he could. I only occasionally saw the old Battalion after going to the T.M. Battery [15] , where I & my dozen joined similar contingents from the 5^th, 6^th & 8^th under Capt. R.S. Pratt, a Durham man who had come to the 5th and whom I had known on the Pirbright course. We all went on another course at Pirbright, then to Salisbury Plain, and to France early in 1917.

After landing at Navre, we detrained at Longeau railhead near Amiens & marched on Route Nationale due east towards St. Quentin to behind the line facing the Somme.  After a spell in mud & water logged trenches we moved forward as the German retreat began, & got into sundry engagements with only improvised trenches as we came up against their resistance; some spells were fairly quiet, some rather hot. One, hot in both senses, was an attack from a chalk quarry the Sherwood Foresters had captured; a couple of nights and days I had a mortar with five men there supporting the attack but had no casualties. We moved to other parts facing Havrincourt & Cambrai as our advance pushed on towards the Hindenburg Line. During one move I had a job at Brigade H.Q. as “Temporary Acting Assistant Staff Captain”, which meant nothing much more than taking round and explaining dispositions and arrangements for Battalion and our T.M. Baty. & the Machine Gun Company.

While out of the new trench-line for intensive training, preparatory to moving north to Ypres, our Battery went on a course to the Army School near Amiens (where I had been sent for a short course not long before).  During the course, they did a practice attack, T.M.s supplying an imaginary Brigade of Infantry, represented by a few spare men who knew the ropes. As the Instructor at the School remembered me as having done this stunt before, he gave me the job of Brigadier to give these few men their orders. All I got out of that was cross-examination at the post-mortem after the operation by the Colonel-Commandant of the School, who knew more about orthodox Infantry Training than he did about Trench Mortar work; but I’ve often felt tempted to say I was an Acting Brigadier for one brief spell.

Before we finished our intensive assault training on the old Somme battlefield of 1916, preparatory to moving up to Ypres, I took the chance to go to Thiepval, where Jack Sharpley, friend of mine and of the Peels in Holsworthy, had been killed late in 1916; but it was hopeless to find anything; the whole place for miles was blasted and covered with wooden crosses. Early in Sept 1917, we entrained for Ypres. From behind Poperinghe I got home on leave, and J. & I were married at Cores End, 18/9/1917.

Recall wires came from our Brigade as it was due for next attack, before my leave was up, but by luck someone I knew from the 7^th happened to be at Brigade H.Q. helping with that job (Toc Ack / Toc Esses C., as I had been earlier) and he also had to deal with sudden order for me to leave our old Battery to take command of another in 42^nd Division, so he sent another wire cancelling my recall, which arrived in time to let me finish my 10 days. Then, back at Poperinge, I found all our S.F. and the Battery had gone into the attack in front of Ypres; they all suffered heavily; but I had to go off to find my new Battery, right up on the Belgian coast behind Nieuport.

We were in and out of a dreadful piece of line – waterlogged and heavily shelled for over two months; the 42^nd Division were Manchester & Lancs Fusiliers; while there we had quite a few casualties, but I only got a few scratches once when shells blew in the cellars where I had my Battery H.Q. Late that year, the French took over that bit of line (immediately abandoning the front lines we had held, as too difficult to defend – too exposed.) We marched behind the lines down to the La Bassee front where the trenches were not so shallow but the shelling heavier. We kept going in again after every few days out – Givenchy & Festubert sectors where the trench-lines had stayed for a year or two getting shelled and mined all the time. We were brought out for a rest March 1918 but had to work on wiring defences against the threatened German big push after Russian collapse.

I got home on leave March 1918. Big push started 21^st March; held up at Boulogne on return by [? disorder] of troop movements but got back to Battery down in the old Somme battlefield again. After a couple of ad spells holding up fresh German attacks we had to take over a fresh bit of front near Gommecourt. While I was changing gun-positions, a sniper from a position where the Germans had pushed forward got me with a shot clean through the neck. I was just able to get back & tied up, & taken back, eventually to Rouen & England – Wilton, Plymouth and then Sheringham for convalesence; rejoined Reserve Battalion 7^th Sher. For. at Saltfleetby (Lincs.) Sept 1918; later to Clipstone, Notts., & Brocton, Staffs., until demobilised Jan.1919.