|
The Angels of Mons and Le Cateau
It was August 1914 when Commander-in-Chief, Sir John French ordered the newly
arrived British Expeditionary Force under his command to launch an offensive
against the German Imperial Army at Mons and so began the BEF’s first major
action of World War I and its resulting carnage.
We were heavily outnumbered and, despite the fact we killed or wounded three of
theirs to every one of ours that fell, we were forced to retreat to our second
line of defence.
Mercifully, the Germans chose not to pursue us immediately but elected instead to
lick their wounds.
It was during the respite from the day's exertions that the stories started to
spread through the ranks of weary and bloodied soldiers about the "Angels of
Mons".
It seemed that every man had either witnessed the event or personally knew a man
who had.
It was told that, at the height of the battle, visions appeared in the sky of St.
George surrounded by angels, horsemen and cavalry urging the soldiers on.
Well, I didn’t see them and, further more, I didn’t believe anyone else had. I
figured it was a combination of fear and fatigue.
But, as we sat drinking a mug of badly-brewed, black tea, I turned to my mate,
George, and asked him, “Did you see it, Georgie? It was your namesake, after
all”.
“Did I see what”?
“The angels and St. George, of course”.
“No, mate, I was too busy trying not to get shot”.
George took a mouthful of tea and pulled a face, swallowed and reluctantly took
another mouthful, and then he said, “Anyway what use were they poncing about in
the sky? They should have come down and got stuck in and give us a bit of a
hand”.
“Too right”, I agreed but I wasn’t altogether clear if he had seen them or not.
Then we were called to muster and prepare for the battle to recommence. It
seemed our all too brief respite to regroup was all but over.
Again, we battled against overwhelming odds until well into the next day until,
finally, we had to retreat again, fighting a fierce rear guard action for the
best part of two days, until their main body finally caught up with us at Le
Cateau where yet another fearsome battle commenced.
George and I had taken up a position with what remained of our battalion, on a
wooded ridge, firing rapidly at the advancing Germans, round after round after
round. My arm ached with the constant reloading and my shoulder was bruised and
sore from the repeated recoil. We fired so many shots I thought my barrel would
melt.
Then the Germans turned tail and ran. How we cheered at the sight of the Germans
running away from us for a change.
However, our celebrations were to be proved premature as everything around us,
the entire wood, the hill, the world for all I knew, erupted in a series of
massive explosions, so many it was impossible to tell when one ended and the
next began.
Amidst the din of hells-fire that had fallen upon us, were cries and screams and
prayers.
Then, after what seemed to be hours but was probably only minutes, the barrage
was over.
I lifted my head and could see nothing. All around was dust and smoke. I could
smell the acrid stench of cordite, and my mouth was full of dirt.
I spat out the dirt and dust from my mouth and tried to speak but couldn’t. I
grappled for my canteen and took a mouthful, rinsed my mouth and spat it out.
“Bloody hell, George, I didn’t like that, not one bit”.
But George didn’t answer and, when I looked at him, he didn’t move. He was lying
face down behind the ridge, exactly where he had been before the shelling.
I put my hand on his webbing to turn him over but, as I pulled on his strap, my
shoulder screamed at me to stop. I stopped pulling and glanced at my right
shoulder and saw a foot long splinter of tree had pierced through my shoulder
from front to back. I gritted my teeth as I gripped the splinter and yanked hard
on it.
It came out but the pain was excruciating and I screamed loudly.
I turned my attention back to George and, fearing the worst, I managed to turn
him over using my left arm. He was alive but unconscious and bleeding from the
head, and he had a leg full of bloody splinters.
I washed the worst of the French countryside off his face, using water from the
canteen, and quickly put a field dressing on his head wound, then I removed the
splinters from his leg and dressed that as best I could, then I did the same to
my shoulder.
Then I quickly checked five men in each direction of my firing position and
found them all dead.
I took a moment to survey my surroundings and couldn’t believe my eyes; what,
less than 10 minutes ago, had been a beautiful, wooded hill was now utter
carnage - not a tree worthy of the name remained.
I shook my head in despair at the destruction and mayhem but tempered it by
counting my blessings.
In the distance, I could make out signs of life further along the line and they
appeared to be withdrawing which, on balance, seemed like a perfectly reasonable
thing to do and decided George and I would join them.
Across the battlefield a mist was falling and through it would soon come the
German army to finish us off.
“Best we’re not here when they do”, I muttered to myself.
“Come on, Georgie boy, lets get you to an aid station”, I said as I struggled to
get him on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be ok”, a female voice said.
Startled I turned around to see an angel stood before me, a most beautiful
thing, complete with flowing robes of pristine white and magnificent wings.
I stumbled and she reached out a hand to steady me.
“Am I dead?” I asked, though quickly answered my own question, “No I can’t be
dead coz my shoulder hurts like bloody hell”.
“No, you’re not dead”, she assured me.
“Then I’m hallucinating. My wound must be infected or poisoned”.
She shook her head.
“Ok, then I must be mad. That’s got to be the answer”, and punctuated my
statement with a nod.
“You may well be mad, I couldn’t possibly comment, that’s not my department,
but, mad or not, I am still here none the less”.
Just then there were sounds coming from the mist, it was the sound of fighting
men on the move and, further along the line, sporadic gun fire could be heard.
“We had better walk and talk, don’t you think”, she said and gestured with an
open hand in the opposite direction.
I nodded my agreement and moved off, with George on my back, who was
surprisingly light for a big man.
“So, if for the sake of argument I suspend my scepticism and agree that I am
neither dead, hallucinating nor mad, that would mean that I actually believe you
are here”.
“Yes”, she replied.
“So, why are you”?
“Why am I what”?
I paused before replying as the sounds of war behind us were getting ever louder
so I picked up the pace.
“Why are you here”?
“We are here to help those we can”.
“We”? I asked, with surprise.
“Oh, yes, I am not alone”.
I pondered her reply for a moment before replying.
“You say you help those you can, but not all”?
“We can’t help everyone”, she said sadly, “I’m afraid you have us outnumbered.
Unfortunately we can only help the most deserving and, even then …”
She left the sentence unfinished as the action behind us was becoming more
intense and I glanced back to see a small group of Tommies being swept aside by
the advancing tide of the German army.
I again quickened the pace and asked, “So why me? “Why am I more deserving than
those poor men”?
“Because you put the life and safety of your friend before that of your own”,
she answered, as if surprised by the question.
I looked at her doubtfully and she continued, “You dressed his wounds before any
thought of attending to yours”.
I didn’t think I had done anything remarkable. It was what it was.
Just then bullets began zipping past us so I redoubled my efforts and tried to
squeeze a little more speed from my tired legs.
She suddenly appeared in front of me and said softly, “Stand still”.
“Not likely”, I replied sharply and walked past her, “I don’t want to make us an
easier target for them”.
She was in front of me again, “Trust me, just stand still”.
I did as she asked though still unsure of the wisdom of such an act. The Germans
were only 100 yards behind us and closing fast.
I stood stock still and she moved closer, until she was only inches away from
us, and unfurled her wings, with a great flutter,, and wrapped them around us,
like a cloak.
I could hear the Germans getting closer and closer, I could hear them talking
and some were even laughing.
“They’ll be on us any minute”, I said, with fear in my voice.
“Relax”, she replied calmly, “they can’t see us”.
I wasn’t so sure but I did as she said, as best I could.
They were all around us now, so close I could smell the sweat on them.
They were still shooting at my retreating comrades as they went by and, after a
short time, they moved into the distance in their relentless pursuit and we were
still safe, though it soon occurred to me that we were now behind enemy lines.
“Have no fear”, she said, sensing my concern,
“Close your eyes”.
I did so, without question, and, after a moment, I felt the reassuring embrace
of her winged cloak slip away, in a brief flutter. When I opened my eyes, she
stood serenely before me.
But we were no longer stood on that dangerous, scarred landscape of Le Cateau. We
now stood in a much greener place.
Ahead of us, the British reserves were mustered, preparing to advance to try and
halt the German advance.
To my left and right stood a sporadic line of bemused and battered soldiers,
walking slowly towards our lines, with their angelic escorts looking on.
My angel smiled as I tried to speak but I could only return her smile.
As I made my own way towards the line, George still on my back, she called after
me,
“You can tell George, later from me, that we Angels don’t get stuck in, but we
do what we can”.
“Will do”, I called back.
As I got closer to our lines, groups of Tommie’s raced towards us to help the
weary men.
As a couple of men started to relieve me of my burden, I suddenly felt George's
full weight on my back and realised she had lightened my load.
While two privates carried George off to the aid station, I turned and waved to
our saviour and she fluttered her wings in response and melted away into the
landscape.
------------
When George and I were at the hospital back in Blighty, the papers were full of
the story of the "Angels of Mons" and everyone you spoke to had an opinion on
the subject. The general consensus appears to be that it was a miracle, though
George says he thinks it’s a load of tosh.
For myself, the "Angels of Mons" appearing in the skies above the battlefield, I
cant say that they were there or not, as I never saw them with my own eyes but I
can say, with hand on heart, that the "Angels of Le Cateau" most certainly were
there so if I can see angels then why shouldn’t everyone else.
The other thing that filled the papers was the patriotic surge of volunteers
enlisting after the terrible defeat at Mons. The angels will be very busy in the
coming years, I think.
The So-Called "Angels of Mons" Halt the German Advance at Mons Belgium
Giclee Print
Pearse, Alfred
Buy at AllPosters.com
Reviews
(applause received) 
Be
the first to review this story - click here.
|
