We have received the following letter from Gunner Syd Hopkins, of Ammanford, bother of a former employee at this office, who is now with the British Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, as a signaller with the R. F. A.
“Dear Editor, — Seated for my nightly spell of three hours at a telephone, the thought struck me that a good antidote against sleep would be the writing of a short account of the work performed by a certain section of the Army known as ‘Signallers,’ and by doing so I hope it will be interesting to may readers of your paper, which we so anxiously look forward to every week.
In case it may be a surprise to some of your readers to learn that sleep is so easy for a man to gently fall into so near the front of a battle line, with the enemy practically no distance away, let me say that one becomes oblivious to the enemy’s close proximity, and looks upon the distant roll of an isolated gun and the crack of a sniper’s bullet as it embeds itself in the sandbag parapet, as a lullaby.
It takes an extraordinary din, such as an artillery bombardment, or the burst of a rapid rifle fire or machine gun fire to arouse a chap from his mouth-watering dreams of the dear ones at home, and of delicious and glorious meals enjoyed at home, especially if it is that fellow’s next turn on the telephone.
Here in their little dug-out in the trench the signallers are stationed at one of the innumerable ends of the web-like network of lines which puts every battery and company of men in the trenches in communication with the one in command of all the troops, connected by the various links known as Brigade, Battalion, Divisional, and Army Headquarters.
As in other things, this war has revolutionised the methods of communication between those responsible for giving orders and the men who have to see those orders obeyed, so far rendering all ways, except the telegraphic and telephonic, useless, and perhaps in time obsolete.
In the times when troops were not massed so thickly and the enemy was farther away, orders and results of manoeuvres were conveyed by visual means, flags being used by day and flash lamps by night. But no, with the enemy’s observation so keen, invisible methods have to be used, so under cover of darkness the signallers run out their wires to the places chosen for stations. If the work is done in the daytime, they generally seek the shelter of communication trenches. Wire laying at night is a ticklish job, especially when across the open country and anywhere near the firing line.
One goes over the parapet for the first time with a queer sensation in one’s inside. The enemy’s sentinels are continually taking pot-shots into the darkness, knowing that someone is sure to be moving about, and hoping to catch them. So there is the danger from ‘strays,’ which go singing through the air or fall with a nasty hiss in the earth near by.
But the wire-layer goes out reeling out cable as he runs, and hoping his lucky star is shining. He has not gone far before he has probably fallen into a great shell hole, himself down, for the enemy sends up rockets which burst into flares and make everything around as visible as in the daytime. At last, if lucky, he ends up safely at his destination, always tired and very often covered with mud, and bursting with yarns of hairbreadth escapes he has had.
The operator soon fixes a phone on the end of the wire, and within a minute or two of their arrival the officer can be in communication with the battery and headquarters. Then the usefulness of the ‘phone comes in.
During day and night reports have to be sent in regarding the general situation, and anything extraordinary in the enemy’s demeanour has to be reported, stores have to be ordered, and innumerable details of the work to be done are all settled by the help of the telephone.
This instrument can also be used as a telegraph, so that if the noise of a bombardment is too loud, messages can be ‘buzzed’ along the wire. Every signaller in his training has to learn to telegraph messages at a fairly good speed, and also t distinguish the particular note of the ‘phone from which he is receiving a message when two or three are being sent through at the same time.
In an attack, if he is lucky, the signaller reaches the culmination point of his usefulness. As soon as the infantry have gone over the parapet to make a charge, over he follows with his ‘phone, and a companion carrying a drum of insulated cable, and before long he is in communication with the battery, and reports the result of the charge. The infantry signaller reports to his headquarters, and sends for more men, ammunition, sandbags, or anything that is necessary to hold the captured trenches.
Shells play havoc with the wires, and to combat these we have the linesman. His weapons are a pair of pliers, a piece of insulation tape, and a ‘phone, with which to test the line he is working upon. As shells fall at all hours of night and day, he is called upon at any time to go out and mend or lay fresh wire. No respect for his beauty sleep is shewn. He gets a rough shaking, and hears a voice saying, ’Now then, there arise and shine.’
So he gets up and shines, chiefly in the use of lurid language aimed at the enemy and their shells. If he is lucky, he soon finds the disconnection, but sometimes he is out for hours, sorting out his own particular wire from several others, mending a break here, putting a piece of fresh wire in there where it has been blowing clean away, and very often he is under fire. His job is no picnic.
Very often he has to go over it again within an hour, the whole of his work being spoiled by the enemy. But by some means or other the communication is kept up. The work I have so far described is that of a battery signaller, but the work of all signallers is just the same, and they are responsible for all communications.
I forgot to mention that we are in touch with the infantry commander, and if they have a request for the battery to fire, the operator will telephone to the battery, and the guns will be fired within a minute.
In the intervals we have a quiet time; that is, if the enemy are not felling sore about something and want their trenches back . I hope my Chronicle friends are not bored by reading this. — I remain, yours truly,
“Gunner S. Hopkins.”
“P.S. — I have been told by many friends to write to the local papers asking them to send us articles that we need mostly. We are only five in this battery from the Swansea district (four from Ammanford and one from Clydach), and what we are mostly in need of are cigs, tobacco, shaving set, soap and sweets. Any of the articles mentioned above will be thankfully received and shared amongst my pals. All of us receive the Chronicle every week.”
