He may not have thought it at the time, but my grandfather was very fortunate in World War One. Of course, if he hadn’t been so lucky, then I would not be here to write about it.
His father had come from Germany as an indentured economic migrant in 1842, but Cecil Spiegelhalter was a proud Yorkshireman who saw no need to anglicise his name. He was already 33 years old when he started as a Private in the first batch of volunteers in September 1914, and by the end of 1916 had risen to Sergeant – he had been under shellfire behind the lines in Bethune (sometimes playing cricket later the same day), but had only visited the trenches for a few days.
But the supply of public-school boys was drying up, and older men were being drawn from the ranks to train as officers. On the 1st January 1917 he was commissioned as 2nd Lieutenant in the 18th Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers, at the grand old age of 35.
Junior officers, also known as subalterns, had the most dangerous rank in WW1. 2nd Lieutenants were expected to be first up the ladder in an attack, leading and encouraging their platoon of 20-30 men to follow them out of the trench and into no-mans-land, generally under intense fire. The title of a book about junior officers in WW1, Six Weeks, reflects an informal estimate of the life expectancy during the worst campaigns such as Loos or the Somme. (Speaking as a statistician, it is a shame that this figure is often wrongly attributed to all officers or even all soldiers in WW1. If true, it would mean that few officers survived a year, but in fact the proportion of officers killed varied between 14% in the first year and 7% in the last year of the war, around twice the mortality rate of other ranks).
Cecil’s diary (presumably kept against orders) reflects that risk: he records a ‘narrow shave’ on 24th January 1917. But then on 7th February he has a temperature of 103F, is admitted to hospital and then given home sick leave with ‘bronchitis, laryngitis and deafness in right ear’.
He didn’t return to the front until December 1917, and therefore missed some of the deadly actions of the war, when the Third Battle of Ypres pushed out the salient towards Passchendaele from July to November 1917, with about ¼ million casualties on each side. The 18th Lancashire Fusiliers was in and out of the front line all year, and the ‘Calendar of Moves’ of the battalion records numerous raids and two ‘over-the-top’ attacks: on the 15th April at Gricourt near St Quentin, and then on 22nd October in Houthulst Forest in the battle to capture Poelcappelle near Passchendaele.
Had he not become ill, Cecil would presumably have been leading his men in these attacks, but instead was at Thirtle Bridge Camp near Hull in Yorkshire, commanding E company of 3rd Battalion (Reserve) Lancashire Fusiliers. His diary and scrapbook record taking part in numerous shows and concert parties, which rather bizarrely often featured the Countess of Westmorland, who happened to be the second (and rather younger) wife of the Commanding Officer, the Earl of Westmorland. His appearance as Police Sgt Quickflash in ‘America Came in‘ at the Tivoli Theatre in Hull was on 3rd October 2017, shortly before his real battalion went over the top in the battle of Poelcappelle on the other side of the channel.
Incidentally, a fellow junior officer in Yorkshire was a certain John Ronald Reuel (JRR) Tolkien, who was recuperating from his devastating experiences in the trenches in 1916 – a menu for the annual Minden Dinner records Tolkien and Cecil together. Tolkien’s wife was living in Hornsea during the summer of 1917, just a few miles from Thirtle Bridge, while Cecil was at this time courting 27-year old Gladys Farleigh, who was from Devon but was looking after the children of family friends in, coincidentally, Hornsea. We can only imagine Cecil and Tolkien cycling off together to see their loved ones.
My grandfather rejoined 18th Battalion in Belgium on 4th December 1917, and on 20th December was made 104th Brigade Gas Officer for the Ypres sector. It is unclear if he volunteered for this apparently exceptionally dangerous post, which required continual movement around front line and reserve trenches to inspect gas equipment and anti-gas precautions.
Cecil’s diary generally focuses on places visited, runs scored at cricket, and recitations given at concert parties. But this period brings more reflection: ‘narrow escape on return journey’ (9th January), ‘desolation’, ‘Lucky to get through in time’ (11th). ‘Artillery strafe’ (12th) . He has a break between 14th and 19th January on a training course back behind the lines at Cassel, where he recorded a ‘sumptuous billet’ and a ‘Concert by 12th Labour Co. at cinema (poor show)’. Typically, his exam paper was later pasted into his scrapbook.
After surviving almost exactly six weeks as Gas Officer, his luck, apparently, runs out. On 29th January he visits ‘Eagle trench, Bear Trench’ near Poelcappelle, just north of Passchendaele, scene of some of the worst fighting the previous October and where some of the most iconic mud-desolation images of the war were recorded.
The comment ‘shelled’ appears to have been added later as explanation for his admission to field hospital, where he is recorded as having DAH, which translates as ‘Disordered Action of the Heart’, the contemporary phrase used for cardiac arrythmias, breathlessness and other symptoms brought on after traumatic experiences in war. This has also been known as ‘soldier’s heart’ and, from the American Civil War, ‘Da Costa’s Syndrome’: a recent article from the USA explains: ‘Over the next 70 years, “soldier’s heart” would morph into “effort syndrome,” “neurocirculatory asthenia,” and “shell-shock” in World War I, and “battle-fatigue” and “anxiety neurosis” of World War II. Today it is part of the broader entity we know as post-traumatic stress disorder—PTSD’.
In his later years, Cecil would simply say he had been ‘blown up’.
His mother was notified, he was sent on home leave.
He returned to France in March 1918 and a (kindly) medical board declared him B2 for the duration and not fit for front line duties. Meanwhile, the 18th Battalion had been taken out of the trenches at Poelcappelle on March 7th, and sent by train to Maricourt in the Somme area. This was unfortunate, to say the least, as it was just in time to be facing the massive German spring offensive. The Calendar of Moves for the battalion records ‘German attack’ on March 25th, and the next day ‘Rearguard action, Bray, Morlancourt, Buir sur l’Ancre’, in what must have been part of a frantic retreat of around 18 km, losing all the ground captured in the Battle of the Somme in 1916, at a cost of over 400,000 casualties on each side. This marked the furthest German advance in that sector.
The battalion stayed in the Somme, and fought to recapture the lost ground – they went over the top again on 1st June at Aveluy Wood, an area that would not be taken back until August 1918.
Cecil worked behind the lines at Abbeville, although he experienced repeated bombing, he avoided this desperate defence and final advance until the Armistice of November 1918.
In 1919, now as Captain Spiegelhalter, he was part of the occupying Rhine Army in Cologne, teaching German in the Staff College, acting in plays and being the philately correspondent for the Cologne Post. Then he married Gladys, came to work in North Devon as a chemistry master, and after a string of more lucky events, I duly appeared in 1953.
Huge numbers of people have felt they had lucky escapes in wartime, but Cecil’s well-documented experiences give a feeling for the repeated role of arbitrary fortune. I really shouldn’t be here.