First World War: Ypres 1918 -Timed Justice- Ghost Trench

By Albert E. Yellop

The book covers a period of A.E. Yellop's life during the First World War, which resulted in his recording for his family "Two Weeks in the Life of a Machine Gunner at the Last Battle for Ypres 1918 and two drama scripts [1] 'Timed Justice' a screenplay covering an injustice carried out during the War resulting in a murder after the War [2] 'Ghost Trench' a screen drama set in the trenches in the First World War which deals with the human aspects on the troops -English or German- describing events that occurred.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491896341

Albert E. Yellop

ALBERT E. YELLOP Albert Yellop was born in the East end of London in 1899. At the age of nineteen he was on the front line fighting in the trenches at the final battle for Ypres in the First World War. The impact this experience had on his life resulted in this book. TWO WEEKS IN THE LIFE OF A MACHINE GUNNER AT THE LAST BATTLE FOR YPRES 1918 A record for his family of how their father spent two weeks of his life in the trenches fighting in the First World War. TIMED JUSTICE A drama written for either film or television, recording how a wrongful decision made on the battleground during the First World War, resulted in a murder on the streets of London GHOST TRENCH This drama script records the happenings in the First World War trenches. Watching from the trench parapets and seeing trees moving, capturing German soldiers who before the war ran businesses in London, it provides a less gruesome side to the war.

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© 2014 Albert E. Yellop. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/05/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9633-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9634-1 (e)

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CONTENTS

ALBERT E. YELLOP

LAST BATTLE FOR YPRES 1918

TWO WEEKS IN THE LIFE OF A MACHINE GUNNER

AT THE LAST BATTLE FOR YPRES 1918

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GHOST TRENCH

CAST

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ALBERT E. YELLOP

Albert Yellop was born on 28th February 1899 and died on 13th May 1973. He taught his family ‘honesty’ which together with our mother Frances who taught us ‘love’ provided a very sound foundation for the lives of their children, Susan, Joan, Raymond, Dennis, Hazel and David.

After the First World War, our father lived in North Street Barking and our mother Frances Hills, lived next door at No. 61 North Street. They married and lived at No 61 until the young family moved to King Edward’s Road in Barking, Essex.

The time he spent fighting in the First World War had a major affect on his life, although he seldom spoke of his gruesome experiences with his family. The final battle at Ypres, or Passchendaele, named after the village destroyed in the course of the offensive, was considered to be one of the most notorious land campaigns of the First World War.

Finding work after the war was difficult and Albert was involved in many employments and part time work to keep his growing family fed and clothed. It was a simple life of survival in the years leading up to the start of the Second World War.

In the Second World War, Albert Yellop joined the Territorial Army which took up much of his time outside of working to support his family. He became a Territorial Army Officer in charge of the Barking Park Gun emplacements which were protecting the East End of London from German aircraft and rocket attacks. Days were long during the war years for both our parents. Working hard came naturally to the family.

After the Second World War, Albert worked as a manager of a radio and television retail outlet and then moved into local government until his retirement.

Albert had natural creative talents which embraced writing and fine art painting. Some of his writings are included in this book. His fine art mainly embraced copying of old master works by Constable and similar artists. Many of his creations were exhibited in London and Barking art exhibitions and many adorn the walls of family members. His ability and use of colour for someone who had no formal creative training was extraordinary.

The creative foundations which he introduced to his family have been been continued by some of his children and grandchildren.

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Albert Yellop’s

Handwritten note attached to his writing of

"Two Weeks in the Life of a Machine Gunner

at the last battle for Ypres 1918

"To my family, I hope

during your lives you do not

experience such an ordeal.

My Sons and Daughters this was

two weeks in your Father’s life.

The rest of my life

you are well acquainted with"

We acknowledge with thanks for the reproduction rights of photographs used in this book

Great War Primary Document Archive Photos of the Great War

www.gwpda.org/photos

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LAST BATTLE FOR YPRES 1918

Considered to be the most notorious land campaign of the First World War, were the Battles for Ypres, or Passchendaele, called after the village that was destroyed in the course of the offensive. The first battle of Ypres was in 1914, the second in April 1915, the third in 1917 with the final battle in 1918

While David Lloyd George the British Prime Minister and Field Marshall Sir Douglas Haig were discussing from different positions the need for the third battle for Ypres, British Troops were suffering the worst possible war conditions. Albert Yellop’s two weeks as a machine gunner at Ypres records how a nineteen year old played his part in the battle lines at Passchendaele.

Hundreds of thousands of live were lost in the Ypres battles, millions of shells were used against the the Germans. Conditions in the third battle for Ypres were appalling. In some areas the mud was ten feet deep. Shell craters full of mud, where it was easy to disappear out of sight if you fell in them.

The events of Passhendaelle stayed with Albert Yellop all his life. Like many who experienced the fields of battle, he did not talk much about the gruesome experiences with his family. It was only after his premature death, partly to do with the affects of being gassed in the First World War, that his recording of events were found amongst plays that he had written. Each of his plays had military associations with the events he experienced during the First World War.

How a young man from the east end of London became part of the 9th Scottish Division at the battle for Ypres, Alberts Yellop’s handwritten notes do not record, but he paid tribute to the men of the Seaforth Highlanders and the Black Watch to whom he was attached. Their step by step bravery as they fought their way through the German lines caused the unending retreat by the enemy. Albert Yellop also recorded that he owed his life to a Scottish soldier who died while trying to protect him from sniper fire.

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British Vickers machine gun crew wearing PH-type anti-gas helmets Photograph from the Imperial War Museum collection

TWO WEEKS IN THE LIFE OF A MACHINE GUNNER

AT THE LAST BATTLE FOR YPRES 1918

It is now nearly fifty years, but the memory is still vivid. My age at the time was nineteen. I had previously served with the 51st Highland Division at Bethune and Festubert during the retreat after the German attack on the 21st March 1918, which lasted until the June, when the tide turned.

When we arrived from the Arras front, to a resting camp called Proven, it was a Saturday early in September 1918. After weeks of foot slogging, this was heaven and we made the most of it. That night, I with others made a tour of this little town, where we managed to get our first real meal for months. Returning to camp about 10 pm. we were soon making our beds with blankets on the wooden floor of a Nissen hut. Being in comparative safety from what we had been accustomed to for sometime, I for one was soon fast asleep. We had been told that we were to have a King’s rest, about six days, but we were soon disillusioned.

On the following morning, just after breakfast the Sergeant was shouting about getting the machine guns and ammunition aboard lorries, which had arrived during the night. At this time the shouting did not seem to register after the promise of a Kings rest, but the Sergeant, whose name was Evans, soon made us realize that he was not fooling. He was a darn nice fellow, who I think must have been just as disappointed as we were. Each gun team loaded their machine gun, tripod and metal boxes of ammunition into the lorries. The topic being, where the hell are we going now? Although Proven was the resting place from Ypres, we had no idea where next we were heading.

Just after midday we were ordered to get aboard the lorries and soon we were moving along the cobbled roads, myself playing Good Byee on the harmonica. One of the men at the back of the lorry said we have passed through a place called Flamatinge, which he saw on a board at the side of the road. The lorries were travelling very slowly, one soldier stating, I think we are heading for Ypres. It was not long before we were on the outskirts of Poperinge, which confirmed to us that our friend was right. The lorries moved even slower as the shell holes in the road had been hurriedly filled, which made the driving very precarious.

We entered what was left of Poperinge and was soon confronted with the well-known board ‘Gas Masks in the Alert Position’. The lorries stopped, the Sergeant looking into each lorry to see that all men had their masks at the alert. We had been in gas attacks before, so you did this religiously for one’s own safety. The evening was beginning to draw down upon us, when the lorries entered the outskirts of Ypres. Soon, but very slowly we turned into the town, with its heaps of bricks and rubble, by the way of the Lille Gate. My first impression of this place was very terrifying, not a house standing; utter destruction everywhere.

Passing the Lille Gate, we came to a halt in what was once the square of Ypres; Cloth Hall, one hundred yards ahead, was practically demolished; what a sorrowful sight, the chalk ramparts were just twenty yards opposite, into which it appeared large dugouts had been made for storing food, general supplies and for casualty clearing.

The order came get the guns and ammunition off the lorries, but before this order could be carried out, the Germans started to shell the square. Everybody darted for shelter, myself finding cover under the ramparts. Shells were falling heavy, many pieces of shrapnel splashed into the mud in front of me. This being my first initiation into Ypres, to me it did not seem too healthy. After half an hour the shelling stopped. Luckily the lorries had survived this action. Again the order came to unload the lorries. This being done we formed up in our gun teams and a quick roll call was taken. Darkness had now descended upon us, and we were waiting for the guides, who were two Scottish machine gunners to show us into our positions in the front line.

The guides moved slowly ahead, all gun teams in single line. Walking was very difficult over the torn up muddy road, having a full backpack and carrying the machine gun and a metal box containing one belt of ammunition. I found this quite a load, because I was not a big lad, still everyone had his quota of these weapons, and no one complained.

We were now passing over the small wooden bridge, which spanned the Yser Canal, over-which today stands the large memorial to the dead and missing in that Salient, but on that night the canal looked a shambles as I looked down into it. Passing over the bridge and along the mud strewn road we came to two cross roads; at the corner of one was a sandbag dugout which served as a casualty clearing post, the road to the left as I found out later lead to Elverdinge, the one to the right led to the well known ‘Hell Fire’ corner. Now started the last three quarters of a kilometer to our positions. On the right-hand side of the road were sandbag dugouts, on the left poles with Hessian draped along the length of the road, which acted as camouflage. Troops in reserve were occupying these dugouts; many were in shell holes in the centre of the road manning Lewis guns. We were proceeding very slowly as it was difficult to keep the man in front of you in your sight. Having lost touch with the guides we came to a sudden halt, this caused a little chaos, clanking of metal as men fouled each other. The guides having been contacted again, we began to move forward. Our next stop brought us in contact with a large tree trunk, which lay right across the road; this was covered with barbed wire. To pass this we had to leave the road, then down a small grass bank on to a duckboard, which, as you trod on one end, the other shot up in the air, this caused a few bad words. Having returned to the road we resumed our forward trudge to our positions in the trenches.

Veri lights were now going up from the German positions. These lit up the surrounding ground and the sandbag dugouts on the right of the road. Old blankets and groundsheets covered the doorways, and in a few, slight flickering from candles showed. The scene was one of desolation everywhere, but from here and there a few heartening words, Good luck pal. A few guns to our right and left boomed out a kind of welcome, pleased to see you, but for myself I felt far from being pleased, because what I had seen so far made me think that this is the worst part of the front I had been on.

Veri lights again went up from the German lines, and then darkness, it appeared to me that the Germans were very edgy. It was now that the guides had arrived at a point where the gun teams were to be directed towards their different posts in the line. The order came number one team will follow the guide to the left of the road, this being so, we moved forward. We eventually came to a duckboard track laid in the mud and slosh, and it was very difficult at the time to keep your feet from slipping away from under you. After treading the duckboards for another hundred yards, the guide stopped and pointed to a mound, that’s as far as we have to go. On arriving at the mound, I could see that a trench went through it, and it was not long before the guide made contact with the machine gunners holding this position, and explained who we were. By the looks on their faces they gave me the impression that they were pleased to be going out. Climbing up the side of the trench, we went through a cutting, which led to a position dug out of the earth in the shape of a horseshoe. They immediately dismantled their gun, and in its place we put ours.

Under a little corrugated iron shelter, and by the light of a torch, the range card was handed over, which showed the S.O.S. line for the gun to be laid on and also other distinctive landmarks, and their distances. I laid the half loaded machine gun on its S.O.S. line. As the relieved gunners were leaving, I asked what it was like here, one remarked, it’s as quiet as a church on a Monday morning, nothing much happens here. Inwardly I began to wonder, for the sight that met my eyes out in the front did not seem to tie up with his remark.

Veri lights were going up, and down on the ground below the mound it was pocketed with shell holes, little crosses made out of old wood were dotted here and there, a very gruesome sight. The first two members of the team arrived to do the first duty in the gun pit, and I made my way down into the trench where the relieved troops were pointing out where our dugout was, also a place where cooking could be done under cover, and a place used as a toilet.

The relieved troops had now filed out, and after a look round I noticed a getaway trench, which led out to the rear of the mound. I entered our dugout, which was covered with a blanket, and striking a match, looked around. To all appearances it seemed quite a good shelter. Other members of the gun team entered and having lit a candle we sat around talking of things that had happened so far that evening All seemed reconciled to the fact that something was going to happen here, because in comparison to other parts of the front this seemed too quiet to be healthy.

With our gun team we always used a pack of playing cards to determine the different times for duty on the gun, it was always two men on at a time, which lasted for two hours, one watched the front, the other the flanks. This being our first night in a new part of the line, myself, and other six members of the gun team did not feel like lying down and resting, so we just sat there talking. I cannot explain it but a strange feeling seemed to come over me, undoubtedly the others were feeling the same, but no one spoke of it.

Our officer visited us and asked if we were comfortable, also to be very alert. It appears he said to be very quiet, but you never know what ‘Gerry’s’ up to. He gave us a quick survey of the ground in front of our position, the Ypres Water Road being 600 yards ahead, with the Passchendaele ridge 400 yards further on. The Germans were holding the ridge, but out in front he had machine gunners in shell holes facing our positions. Fifty yards in front of our position ran the front line trench manned by the Seaforth Highlanders, on their left were the Belgians, and on their left the French.

When the officer departed, it was getting near the time for my first two hours duty in the gun-pit, so I put some rum and water into a Dixie so we could have a little to warm us up, before going out into the night air, enough was always left for the two who were relieved. A few minutes before the two hours were up, one of the two who had been on duty slipped down into the dugout to warn us to take over. So steel helmeted and gas mask at the alert I set out to do my first watch on the Ypres front. Time was 9 pm. and quite a nice night, with a little chill in the air. My teammate and I entered the gun position. The two who were being relieved had nothing to report and left to go down into the dugout, remarking as they went, What a bloody hole.

In the glare of the veri lights which were going up from the German lines, I must admit I agreed with them, for in front of our position where the shells had ploughed into the ground, a small lake had formed with previous rainfalls, and a nasty smell surrounded the place. During the two hours of duty we talked about many things, comparing this place with positions in other parts of the line, and of course home had to come into it. My teammate came from Bristol and had parents, but I had lost my Mother at fourteen and Father when sixteen and a half and I was an only child. All the gun team knew this and was very kind by sharing their parcels with me when they were received from home. At times I felt terrible to think that I could not reciprocate in kind, but as a team we were like blood brothers.

With the exception of a few veri lights going up from the German lines our two hours of duty finished and having nothing to report we made our way down into the trench, and into the dugout. The Dixie with rum in it was on the Tommy cooker, the other members of the teams were lying down resting, so after having a drink of rum and a cigarette, I blew the candle out and we both stretched out on the dugout floor to try to get some sleep for four hours. At first I could not bring myself to sleep, but after a while I must have dozed off, because I never heard any movement of those going out, or coming in after being relieved. Three o’ clock the following Monday was the next duty period, so having been awakened, I put rum in the Dixie, adjusted my equipment and after each of us having a tot of rum, we left the dugout and made our way to the gun-pit.

The morning air was very chilly, and the terrible smell did not help matters. Except for a few German veri lights, everywhere seemed as quiet as a churchyard, if there had been a few guns firing it would have seemed more real, but it was the quietness that made me feel more edgy, it was a kind of uncertainty of what was going to happen. At 5 am we were relieved, but after an hour we were ordered to stand-to. It was just breaking day, and all the gun team were facing the German lines. A small red German scout plane headed our way from behind the Passchendaele ridge; he flew around our position and we all took cover to ensure we did not give our gun position away, but as it turned to go back, a Lewis gun opened fire from a trench in front. Having deluded the fire of the gun, the plane disappeared over the horizon. We received the order to stand-down.

At the back of the mound was a small running stream, so I had a quick shave. At 8 am our officer inspected us. All the team carried out cooking of so-called meals during the week; old petrol tins were used for this purpose. Each day two members of the team went down to the Ramparts to draw rations, this was done on a rota. With the exception of a few Scottish troops who were passing through our trench with hot soup canisters on their backs, Monday passed very quietly, with our usual tours of duty. During the afternoon the cards were cut for all the night tours of duty, again I picked 9 to 11pm. Just before sundown we all had to stand-to for half an hour; with nothing happening we stood-down and went back to the dug-out for a chat and a smoke. All commented on the continuing quietness, two of the team started to write letters home.

A few minutes before 9 pm we were warned it was nearly time for my teammate and I to take over. After a tot of rum, we adjusted our equipment and made our way to the gun pit. Once in our position and it being so quiet, we decided to do the first hour on together; the second half we split into fifteen minutes each under a little corrugated iron shelter at the side of the gun, for the purpose of a smoke under cover. The first hour passed without incident. My teammate took the first quarter of the second hour on; I got under the shelter for a smoke. My