Charles Sabourin, old sweat, accomplished rifleman and private soldier in His Majesty’s 1st East Surrey Regiment, the old 31st
(Huntingdonshire) Regiment of Foot, crouched low on the North bank of the Mons-Conde canal. It was August 23rd 1914 and only eight days since the battalion had arrived in France from Dublin. Already though, if Sabourin and his companions never had to see another
pave road in their lives, it would not be a day too soon. The long, straight
cobbled avenues of Northern France and Belgium, coupled with new boots for some of the men, had wreaked havoc on their feet. Now, to make matters worse, sprawled amongst the slag heaps of unlovely Mons on a hot Sunday afternoon, they were waiting for the might of the Kaiser’s armies
to fall upon them.
C Squadron of the 4th Royal Irish Dragoon Guards had fired the first shots of the war the previous day. An hour later, patrolling along the Mons - Soignies road, they had encountered a party of horsemen from the German 9th Cavalry Division and given chase. At close quarters, the Dragoons’ swords had proven to be more than a match
for the Cuirassiers’ unwieldy lances and C Squadron had come out clear victors; not a single casualty and prisoners
to boot.
An encouraging start for the British Expeditionary Force it may have been but it was of little consequence to a hungry
Sabourin and the men of the 1st East
Surreys. Whilst the Dragoons and other cavalry contingents were engaging in minor skirmishes on the 22nd, the battalion
was sore-footedly marching towards Mons along Belgium’s unforgiving roads. It
had already suffered its first casualty four days earlier. Despite the rescue
efforts of two men who were almost over-powered themselves, and the Medical Officer who rendered First Aid at the scene, 8108
Private A Walters had ignominiously drowned during a platoon bathing parade before the East Surreys had even seen their first German. Now though,
it would be a different matter. That they would soon be in the thick of the fighting
was inevitable. For even as the men of the 3rd and 5th divisions of
the BEF’s II Corps marched to take up positions around Mons, the massed ranks of Von Kluck’s First Army and Bulow’s
Second Army were sweeping down through Belgium towards them.
Arriving along the canal at around three in the afternoon, the East Surreys had immediately begun strengthening their positions. The canteens were
still somewhere to the rear and as they were without supplies, the order was given for the men to eat half of their iron rations. It was a welcome command.
Along the length of the South side of the canal, from Conde to Mons and forming a small salient
facing Nimy and Obourg, the East Surreys and the rest of the soldiers of II Corps, BEF were holding a line twenty-one miles
long and bisected by eighteen road and rail bridges. Situated on the extreme
right of 14th Brigade’s two and a half mile frontage between the railway bridge
of Les Herbieres and the Pommereoeul road bridge, the East Surreys
held the railway bridge itself. Sabourin and the men of C Company had been pushed
forward to make up an advanced party on the north of the canal and they were now busy building barricades. To their right, a company from the 2nd Kings Own Scottish Borderers of 13th Brigade were doing the
same. All along the line, wherever a bridge afforded the opportunity to fashion
a defensive outpost - and still provide a means of retreat - pockets of infantrymen scraped together as much shelter as the
slag heaps and waterways of the bleak Belgian landscape would allow. The work
continued through the night.
Mons, 23rd August 1914 and Britain’s ‘contemptible little army’ digs
in to await the might of the German army.
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To the east, desperately trying to stay in touch with the extreme left of the French General Lanrezac’s Fifth
Army, I Corps BEF commanded by General Haig also prepared for battle.
The following morning at 5:30am, General Sir John French, Commander-in-Chief of the British
Expeditionary Force called a conference with his Generals and issued orders for the outpost line to be strengthened and for
the bridges over the canal to be prepared for demolition. In fact, Lieutenant
General Sir Hubert Smith-Dorrien, commanding II Corps, had already issued an order to that effect some three hours earlier. Later he would issue an order directing them to be destroyed if retirement became
necessary but for the time being, apart from sinking all the barges in the canal with gun-cotton charges, all his men could
do was improve what entrenchments they had managed to construct, and wait for the attack which was expected the following
morning.
By 9am, well to the east of Sabourin’s position by the bridge
at Les Herbieres, the first German shells began bursting along the extreme right of the line held by the 4th Middlesex
and 4th Royal Fusiliers. And as the southward wheel of Von Kluck’s Army progressed westward along the canal during
the course of the morning and early afternoon, what faced the BEF were not the two enemy corps and a cavalry division that
General French had intimated to his generals earlier that morning, but two entire German Armies.
And yet, as vastly outnumbered as the British were, Von Kluck had little idea of either the composition or the strength
of the force opposing him. Despite the encounter with the Dragoon Guards the
previous day and despite the fact that a British aeroplane had been shot down coming from Maubeuge, south of Mons, Von Kluck was convinced that the BEF had landed at Ostend, Dunkirk and
Calais. So convinced
was he that the British force would arrive on his flank rather than already be in position ahead of him, that a sighting of
troops detraining at Tournai to the west caused him to halt his march southwards for two hours. In fact, the soldiers were not British but French, yet even when it was clear that there were enemy soldiers
in and around Mons, Von Kluck believed that they might be “only cavalry”
and deployed only two of the six infantry divisions at his disposal. He was soon to be dispelled of his notion. Vastly outnumbered
by the eight German battalions advancing towards them, the four companies of the 4th Middlesex and further to the
west, the 4th Royal Fusiliers, greeted the approaching formations with concentrated rifle and machine-gun fire that cut
swathes through the massed ranks of field grey.
Meanwhile Charles Sabourin and the 1st East Surreys were still strengthening their defences. In fact it was not until around 1pm
that the German advance, still panning out westwards along the canal and meeting stiff resistance from the British troops
at every turn, approached the East
Surreys' positions. At this point, the battalion war diary notes, “all work had to cease.”
The soldiers of the German 6th Division signalled their arrival at Les Herbieres by opening up with a machine
gun about a mile and a half from the barricade put up by the East Surreys. Though the Official History states that this was ‘instantly silenced’
by one of the East Surrey’s machine guns, a deadly game of cat and mouse then commenced with the German artillery directing
its fire at the houses round the railway bridge in an attempt to find it. This
they followed up with shrapnel and machine gun fire directed against the East Surreys' defences before launching an attack with two battalions at around 1:30pm. “At this point,” The Official History
reports, “the Germans were decisively repulsed with heavy loss, at the cost of trifling casualties to the East Surrey.” They fought on for the rest of the day and it was not until 6pm when German guns finally destroyed the barricade on the Les Herbieres road bridge that
the advanced parties of the 2nd Kings Own Scottish Borderers and the 1st East Surreys withdrew south of the canal.
Her duties finally over for the day, Nurse Edith Oliver entered the makeshift ward clutching her autograph album and looked across to the soldier sitting in his wheelchair by the
window. Although the European War was still only six months old, to the volunteer
nurses of Sussex 54 Voluntary Aid Detachment, it seemed to have lasted an eternity already. Back in August, with the whole
country predicting that hostilities would be over by Christmas, there were times when they had fretted whether they would
ever be given the opportunity to put their well-practised skills to some practical use.
But it was the middle of March now and far from being over, the wounded were streaming back to Britain, the volunteer
armies were assembling at depots and on training grounds the length and breadth of the country, and what was left of the original
British Expeditionary Force (BEF) was scratching out a foothold in the sodden fields and ditches of Flanders and France.
Sussex 54 VAD lines up at the Red Cross Society Field Day in Falmer in June 1914. Dr William Stewart Orton stands at their head. Towards the back, Nurse Edith Oliver, who diligently kept her autograph album throughout the war, can clearly be seen a head taller than her companions.
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Nowhere, it seemed, had been untouched by the war. Even
here, deep in the heart of the tranquil Sussex countryside, the landed gentry and farm workers of Chailey had responded enthusiastically
to the emergency and already 100 men were serving their King and Country on the land or at sea. Nor had the village escaped unscathed. Young Lieutenant Gerald Ingram of The Royal West Surrey Regiment and Private Charles Wood of The 2nd King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry had been killed within
ten days of each other the previous October and three other men were recovering from wounds.
At times, it had seemed to the ladies of Sussex/54 VAD that they would never be called upon to do ‘their bit’
and that all their training and enthusiasm would be for nought. Then suddenly,
just when they were giving up hope of ever being needed, they received the news that they had all been waiting for.
“The opportunity for members of the local Voluntary Aid Detachment to put their services
to a practical use has now arrived,” reported The Sussex Express on 12th March
1915. “A convalescent home for soldiers is to be shortly opened at “Hickwells”, a fine old country residence situated off the highway at Roeheath, Chailey.
The house stands in its own grounds, and is admirably adapted for the purpose of a convalescent home. The residence has been given rent free for a year, and sufficient money will be forthcoming to carry it
on for that period.”
The following day, a Saturday afternoon, the ladies had held a fund-raising ‘pound day’ at
Hickwells. Monetary donations and gifts in kind had been requested as well as
loans of furniture and gifts of groceries, jams, vegetables, household requisites, dairy produce, and wood for firing; in
fact anything and everything that a fledgling hospital would need to care for men seeking some home comforts and a lot of
TLC. The event had been well attended and over a hundred villagers had turned
up with their offerings, leaving their names in a brand new visitors’ book. A
number of the Detachment was there too, standing rigidly to attention in their pristine uniforms, eagerly waiting to show
the visitors around. Recalling the event later, The Sussex Daily News reported
that “all expressed their opinion that the soldiers, when they do arrive, ought to be very happy and comfortable, everything
being very conveniently arranged.”
Just under a fortnight later Miss Emily Marshall, a fully trained Matron had arrived from London and she
was quickly followed by the first six patients. There was room for twelve to sixteen men at Hickwells and everyone awaited
their arrival with keen anticipation and not a little nervousness.
Charles Sabourin had been one of the first to arrive there.
A south Londoner brought up amidst the dockyards of Bermondsey, he had joined the army in 1900 and soldiered half way
around the world. While Kitchener was appealing for volunteers, Sabourin was sailing from Ireland for Havre. While the lines outside recruiting stations
grew long, he was already shouldering his pack in France and when the might of the German armies had fallen upon the little
Belgian village of Mons, Sabourin was lined up on the canal firing his rifle at the ranks of Field Grey coming towards him
as fast as he could.
Now, though he was back in England for good and in little under a month his army career would be over. Writing with hindsight in 1921, the compilers of that first volume of what would become a 14 volume Official
History of The War in France
& Belgium could refer to the East Surrey’s casualties on the 23rd August as ‘trifling’. And
indeed, compared to the German casualties inflicted that day, and the total losses sustained by the 1st East Surrey Regiment
during the course of the war, those suffered by the battalion on its first day under fire pale into insignificance. Not, however, if like Private Charles Sabourin, you were one of those unlucky enough to be numbered amongst
them. By the time The East Surreys had retreated to Brigade Headquarters
at Thulin and then marched south to Bois de Boissu where it bivouacked at 2am in a factory yard, total officer casualties
for the action were listed as two wounded and three missing whilst other ranks numbered two killed, three wounded and 128
missing.
Sabourin was wounded and missing and noted by name in the Battalion War Diary. The shrapnel that finished his war either blew off his right leg at the time or wounded him so severely
that amputation of his leg in a Belgian or German hospital became inevitable. It
would be a further five months however, until he would be repatriated to England. Limbless prisoners of war were of no use
to their captors. Fit men you could put to work in the fields or factories but
sick men were simply a burden. If they couldn’t fight again, better to
send them back to where they’d come from.
Back in London though, all Charles Sabourin’s relatives had wanted was news and they were frantic
with worry. Soon after the action at Mons in which he was wounded and captured, the letters from them started coming. “… since 11th or 12th August I have not heard anything of him.
I am unable to get to the office to make enquiries so would be very grateful to you if you could let me know something. Yours…”
News had been conveyed to the family that he was missing but then there had been nothing. On 6th October the war office received an anxious communication requesting that they advise, “…
anything more about him at any time, his mother’s address is Mrs Sabourin, 26 Lacey Road, St James Road, Bermondsey” Dutifully the clerk filed the letter. The
following month there was another. “Dear Sir, I am very sorry to trouble
you,” it began, “but have you heard any more information of Pte C Sabourin 6738 of The East Surrey Reg. It is now two months or so since I heard anything…”
There wasn’t anything more to report but that hadn’t stopped the correspondence. In January 1915 there was a further enquiry. “I am very
sorry to trouble you again,” it began, “but have you heard any more of Private C Sabourin No 6738 of The East
Surrey Regt. I came down a month or two before Xmas but I have heard no news
about him…”
With customary efficiency, the letter was stamped at No 10 District Infantry Record Office and filed for future reference. There was nothing more they could do. Within
the month however, Pte Sabourin would be repatriated and the letters would stop. On
December 10th, the British Government had proposed, through the United States Government, to the German Government, that arrangements
should be made for an exchange of British and German officers and men who had been taken prisoner and who were physically
incapacitated for further military service. The German Government had accepted
this proposal on 31st December and the wheels were set in motion. Charles Sabourin,
his name mis-spelled as “Sabairin” In The Times report that covered the event, was one of two East Surrey men who arrived at Charing Cross Station on Wednesday 17th February 1915, before being whisked away by ambulance to Queen Alexandra’s
Military Hospital in Grosvenor Road.
After the
trauma of his injury and almost six months in captivity, what he needed most of all was a period of convalescence and here,
in the tranquillity of Chailey, a world away both from the battlefield and Bermondsey, he
found it.
Convalescents gather for Nurse Blencowe’s camera at Hickwells. By the time he was repatriated as a prisoner of war in February
1915, Charles Sabourin, seated far left on the middle row, had spent nearly six months in captivity.
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Nurse Oliver approached him in his chair, his right trouser leg sewn high at the hip.
She had begun her album earnestly enough, proudly drawing two British Red Cross Society badges on the opening page
and adding to them with a photograph of Margaret Cotesworth, Commandant of the Detachment.
The other members of Sussex 54 had signed their names around the borders and there were further photos of the Detachment
in action during the local Red Cross Field Day in 1913. Here they were unpacking
their equipment. Here was another of them building a camp fire; another one of
them cooking and putting up the dairy. Friends had added their own contributions and there was the pretty postcard of the
clock tower at Hastings which she had bought on a visit to the seaside town some years earlier. When the first arrivals had been brought to Hickwells she had taken some photos of them and pasted them
onto a blank page. Now it was time to ask those same men if they would like to
add a few words.
Charles Sabourin took the album that was offered to him and began to write:
Pte C Sabourin. 1st
East Surrey Regt.
Wounded and captured at Mons. I
would like to meet the German who fired that shrapnel. I would certainly treat
him.
Returned 17/2/15. Prisoner
of W.
Charles Sabourin
drew a line under his entry and handed the album back to Nurse Oliver.
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