Hopes and fears how vain, p.1
Hopes and Fears How Vain, page 1
Hopes and Fears
How Vain
The Cruellest War
- Book Two -
Andrew Wareham
Copyright © 2025 Andrew Wareham
KINDLE Edition
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Visit the author’s website at:
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The book title is from the song 'When This Cruel War is Over' written by Charles Carroll Sawyer with music by Henry Tucker, published in 1863.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
“I say, Griffin. Can you come across to the Colonel a minute?”
The Adjutant of the First Battalion of the Hampshires called Lieutenant John Griffin to the tent that housed the regimental offices while they were on the march towards Ypres.
Colonel Bennet stood, exchanged salutes, all formally.
“Sorry to tell you, Griffin. Just come in with the despatches from Division, from your father, in fact. Your youngest brother, Harry, with the Surrey Fusiliers, killed in action a couple of days back. In Belgium. Shot from ambush while setting up the battalion Vickers. Chest and head, so quick, at least. Terribly sorry, old boy! He had made full lieutenant already – his people thought a lot of him.”
There was little to say in response and John was not facile with words.
“Oh! I knew he had joined. The three who had preferred to go up to University all joined, I know. My father made sure they were in his division so as to get out here good and early. They would have wanted to see the fun and be in on the big adventure. What a shocking waste of a youngster! A clever lad, sir, far brighter than me. Was taken into Oxford at sixteen, like both his brothers. Can’t have been more than seventeen, sir. Not like me, a Regular and never wanted to be anything else. He had a life before him and could have been anything he wanted. What an awful shame, sir!”
“He has paid the price, Griffin. The Kaiser wanted this war and youngsters like your brother will bear the cost of stopping him. Remember him and do your duty by your men. Don’t throw lives away seeking revenge!”
“No, sir. Not my way of doing things, sir. I will ask, sir, if the opportunity arises…”
“If volunteers are needed, Griffin, then you shall not be forgotten. Off you go now.”
Word spread and John’s many friends dropped by the platoon to clap him on the shoulder and say a word or two.
“We’ll drink a glass to the lad in Berlin, John!”
“To him and let us hope only a very few others, sir. As you more experienced men have only too often said, sir – not everybody comes home again from war. You saw it in South Africa and China. Now it’s our turn, and yours for a second time round.”
“You have three other brothers out here, do you not, John?”
“Alfred, with the Kents; Robert, you know, with us, seconded to my father’s staff the while; Peter who was to be with the East Sussex Rifles, but I rather gather he put up a bit of a black there and was sent over to the Twelfth Hussars, or some such. Always had too much of a mouth on him for his own good, young Peter!”
Captain Gradidge, commanding John’s D Company showed a little distressed.
“I hope you got the regiment wrong, old chap! Word is the Twelfth were wiped out almost to the last man, couple of days back. One of these ‘cold steel’ gentlemen, their colonel, and is supposed to have charged riflemen backed up by Spandaus, across open ground! I hear that General Haig saluted their ‘noble victory’ as they showed the ‘true spirit of the English gentleman’.”
“How many of the Boche did they kill?”
“None apparently. They are said not to have got within twenty yards of them. Every last one of them cut down. Horses as well, of course.”
“What utter bloody fools, sir!”
“I agree. Don’t say that too loud in the mess tent tonight, old chap. There’s some few of the younger men – and one or two older who should know better – who are talking of a ‘victory of the spirit’, I quote. The Boche will know now they face true English fighting gentlemen.”
“That’s crazy, sir!”
Captain Gradidge nodded his agreement as he ambled away.
“I think they may have been educated at Rugby.”
“Oundle more like, sir. They are even more stupid there!”
“Difficult, John. I had three cousins at Rugby – fat little chaps, twins and a younger brother, Tweedledee, Tweedledum and Tweedledummer, I recall. I think they became bankers.”
The colonel made no reference to the dead when he had a brief word with them before dinner.
“We march into Ypres, tomorrow.” He gave the town its correct French pronunciation, looked about him, sighed and corrected himself. “That, of course, is Wipers to most of us. We do not know what is happening but it seems there are a number of our battalions collecting there before marching off to the east and north. I expect we shall march out immediately. I believe Brigadier Firebrace has the command. Not known to me. Never met him but I gather he has a solid record behind him. The countryside there is a bloody mess! I went through there with the family on furlough two years ago, passing through on my way to the Rhine after meeting French friends a bit to the south. It is an industrial area – iron mines and coal pits and forges and foundries – all smaller than you see in the North of England but literally hundreds of them, scattered about like confetti!”
Not all of the officers knew that word, had to have it explained to them.
“The effect may be to split up the battalion. Might be companies separated one from the other and in effect acting independently. In such case, send runners to me and bear in mind the orders I send out every morning. Try your best to keep in contact. Push forward when possible. Do not hesitate to fall back when you must. Inform me if you are forced back. If the need arises to retreat – and you may well run into one of the Schlieffen columns, so no shame in doing just that – then aim to reach Wipers again. Do try to avoid last stands, gentlemen! My name ain’t Custer and neither is yours!”
He led them to the mess table, laughter rapidly dying away as they faced the reality of bully beef stew, again.
“At least we have been able to pick up a few damned good bottles, gentlemen!”
They raised their glasses in salute.
The morning saw them marching into Ypres, admiring, some of them, the mediaeval buildings that graced the old town.
“Must have been a wealthy place in the Middle Ages, sir. A lot of money spent on these old places.”
Captain Gradidge agreed. It reminded him in some ways of Winchester, he thought.
“Old and handsome, Griffin. As I expect to be eventually.”
“Nothing to say, sir.”
“Looks like a staff officer greeting the Colonel.”
“So it is, sir. Something of a relief to see him. That is my brother Peter, sir. I had heard he had been pushed across to the 12th, as you know. Looks like they pushed him out again.”
“Lucky for him. Eased out of two battalions in the space of less than a month, Griffin. It might be he is not the world’s ideal soldier?”
“Peculiar, sir. He’s a bright lad, always wide awake to everything that’s going on… Too much so, perhaps? As well, always inclined to be on the witty side, to see the humour in everything. Might not fit in so well with some of the older officers.”
They watched as Peter delivered his message to the Colonel, saluted and came away, walking down the column towards them.
“John, old chap! How are you?”
He saluted Captain Gradidge, smiling his best.
“Have you heard about Harry, Peter?”
“No, what’s he done?”
“He was killed, the day before yesterday.”
The smile disappeared.
“No! How? We have barely met up with the Boche. How did he come to be in action?”
John explained the little he knew.
“Poor young Harry! He was so excited to be coming out to be part of the big adventure. I expected him to do the best of us all, you know. Bright and keen and so very able! That’s wrong, John! They should not have taken him.”
“No more they should. They did, however.”
“Such a shame to lose so good a man – not that he had the chance to grow up to man’s estate, poor lad! This damned war is not the fun I expected it to be, John!”
“I gathere
Peter shrugged and confessed he might have been at fault, unintentionally.
“I am not entirely certain, John. I trod on some toes in the East Sussex, carelessly, I now believe. I did not realise I was doing so… They pushed me out to the 12th, and there I caused offence intentionally, John. Three days ago. Forty troopers in total, under my command, and we met up with sixty of German lancers downhill of us a little, and another thirty at a distance across a deep stream. I dismounted my troop and had them lie down with their rifles and opened fire at two hundred yards. Knocked down all except four of the sixty, them running fast. Peppered the other thirty and put down at least half.”
“Sounds like an outstanding little victory, Peter. Worth a Mention, of a certainty.”
Captain Gradidge agreed – it was exactly the sort of thing they wanted to hear more of.
“My troop sergeant warned me it would not go down too well with the squadron and regiment, sir. They came up on hearing fire and told me I had missed a great opportunity. I should have charged with the sword, the arme blanche, the sole weapon available to the man of honour. They implied, not especially subtly, that I had shown yellow. When I pointed out I had lost no men they made it clear that was irrelevant. Better every man should have died with honour than cavalrymen, hussars, should have used rifles. I was sent back to report to the Colonel and he pushed me back to find a senior officer, to tell him the 12th had discovered the enemy and proposed to take the gentlemanly course, to fight with honour. He advised me, in so many words, to commit suicide, to regain the honour I had lost. Last I saw of him he was taking the regiment away to find some machineguns to charge.”
Captain Gradidge was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Peter had been hard done by.
“What a bloody fool! We heard earlier today that he found them. You may be the sole survivor, Griffin.”
“Myself and my troop sergeant, sir. We reported to the Brigadier here and he said the same. He has put me to his staff temporarily. I have requested a battalion, sir.”
“Not a regiment of cavalry?”
“No, sir. I am to be a soldier, not a tally-hoing halfwit!”
“Elegantly expressed, young Griffin! Have a word with your brigadier. He will be able to pick up a walking wounded in your place and put you across to make up their numbers.”
“Thank you for the advice, sir. Might it be best for me to find the wounded man first, do you think, sir? Take him with me?”
Peter thought the advice to be excellent. It would enable him to leave his troop sergeant behind on the brigadier’s staff. Sergeant Shergold was young for his rank, able, far too clever for Peter’s peace of mind, much inclined to use the Army to his own advantage. At some point Shergold would overstep the mark, would become too bold for his own good. Peter did not want to be there to take any of the blame when Shergold was caught.
“Do that... On second thoughts, come with me now.”
Gradidge was impressed by Peter’s light-hearted humour and by his evident moral courage. He had taken the correct course in his little action, probably knowing that his regiment would disown him. That sort of youngster was valuable.
“Colonel, sir. Young Griffin here does not want to remain as a staff officer. I am short one lieutenant. Would it be possible to take him aboard, sir? He has already seen one very tidy little action with the 12th, and the damned fools took against him for it. Add to that, there are always Griffins with us – they belong.”
Peter told the tale again, briefly, without elaboration.
“If you had been one of mine you would be drinking a toast to your Mention, Griffin. You did well. Come with me now and we shall see what the Brigadier has to say. I am Colonel Bennet, by the way.”
Colonel Commandant Bracegirdle was pleased to find a home for Peter.
“I have set the wheels in motion to make up your Sergeant Shergold, Griffin. He will do well for me in your place. Right that you should join a fighting regiment, and it is your family regiment as well, I believe. I have put your name forward for the Mention you deserved, Griffin. You can expect the formal notification any day now. Go to the Hampshires with my blessing, young man. You will be major inside two years, or dead inside two months. Use the brain you’ve got between your ears and do well for yourself in this war!”
Bennet laughed and said he hoped it would be major.
“This is not going to be a short war, Griffin. There is a chance here for thinking and just slightly wild young men. You can make a name for yourself. Use your ability and that name will not be ‘Bloody Fool’ and it will not be carved on your headstone! Report to Captain Gradidge now, if you please.”
“Sir!”
Peter drew himself up and made his most formal salute and about turn, suspecting it was something he should have done when he had reported to the East Sussex.
“I have been accepted into the battalion, Captain. As a staff officer, I had a charger. Should I leave it with the brigade staff, sir?”
“Yes. I have a feeling we shall not be parading on horseback these many months, Griffin. Your brother has the two left platoons just now. You take the two right as yours. Sergeant Chitty has all four platoons. Go and talk to him now.”
Gradidge found John Griffin, told him the news.
“You can keep an eye out for the boy, John. I much suspect he will be useful to us. He may need his arse kicking occasionally. Do what is necessary. Who is your other brother with, did you say?”
“Kents, also our division.”
“No doubt we shall meet up with them. They will be hanging around Wipers, I expect.”
The Kents were some thirty miles from Ypres, pushing east in the hope of finding where the mounted German patrol had come from.
Colonel Rossiter was explaining the little he had in mind.
“You did damned well to kill them, Griffin. They will not be taking intelligence back with them. Trouble is, we have no idea where they might have taken it back to. We must assume it was within half a day’s riding, at little more than a walk. That amounts to anything up to twenty miles in a half-circle to the east. That comes to the better part of three hundred square miles.”
Alfred considered the arithmetic and agreed. “The probability is that they will be towards the outer perimeter, sir, unless they got up late this morning. Are we to search as a battalion or as four companies, or even as sixty-four sections, sir?”
“What would be your recommendation as a mathematician, Griffin?”
“Battalion, sir. Holding where possible to higher ground, expecting horse to keep to the valley bottoms. Leading company to progress with sections in line abreast, sir, over a front of half a mile or so. Remaining three companies in column of route. Guns and baggage between third and fourth companies.”
“’Transport’, not ‘baggage’. I agree. That will necessarily be slow.”
“Logically, sir, they will find us and in greater numbers. It might be as well to progress slowly, so as to have less far to retreat.”
“Not sure of that logic, Griffin. No need to argue, because your advice coincides with what I had already intended. If we assume the Boche to have been delayed a week or so around Liege, then they will be pushing forward fast to meet the targets of the Schlieffen Plan. Some will have strayed towards Brussels and Antwerp, north of their line, but we can assume the bulk to be heading down towards the Belgian and French coast before turning east again on a line to Paris. The War Office tells us that if they take Paris, the French will fold, go for peace negotiations. We get pushed to the coast, not inland – that is vital. Whatever, it is probable that one of their columns, most likely the westernmost, will end up passing through Ypres. Up to the BEF to stop it.”
“To throw it back, in fact, sir?”
“Hardly likely, Griffin! We don’t know exactly how many men the Germans will muster, but each of their five columns – assuming there are five – will contain anything up to a hundred thousand men. There will be reserves as well. The whole BEF is barely forty thousand strong just now, and that includes rear echelon as well. We might get a hundred thousand out by Christmas, provided the ships come in from Canada and South Africa as expected. Just possible they will send sepoy regiments across from Bombay to Marseille and the railways. Whatever, we will not put together a single force of half the size of just one of the German columns, and that not for another three months.”
