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From 1837 ~ then the 1st World War ~ to more recent times..... sigh.....
(From Wiki) In 1837, threatened by a possible Russian invasion of South Asia via the Khyber and Bolān Passes, a British envoy was sent to Kabul to gain support of the Emir, Dost Mohammed. In February 1839, the British Army under Sir John Keane took 12,000 men through the Bolān Pass and entered Kandahar, which the Afghan Princes had abandoned; from there they would go on to attack and overthrow Ghazni.
In 1883, Sir Robert Groves Sandeman negotiated with the Khan of Kalat, Khudadad Khan, and secured British control over the pass in exchange for an annual fee.[2]
A personal account from WWI: Part I..... Part II to follow....
Three Years
There is a period in all our lives which stands out pre-eminently above all else, a time which is stamped indelibly upon our memory, and very often changes our mode of life, our thoughts, and actions.
Such an experience befell most people during the years of the great war 1914 to 1918, but the period I am most concerned with, and which I want to speak about tonight is from 1917 to 1920.
Before we can view those three years I would like us for a moment to take a look at life for the average working young man of Pilling just prior to the outbreak of the great war. How did they work? Amuse themselves in their leisure hours? What wages did they receive? How did they spend their money? Was life for the country lad a pleasant thing, was he satisfied with his lot, was there any chance of social advancement, or was life just one continual struggle for existence.
I would like to point out that the views I give on the above are only from my own observations and may not meet with your assent, but you can voice your opinions later, so let us consider this question: How did they work? Well it was almost all bed and work, and the only work available for the majority was farm service, which was no picnic, commencing work at 5am and finishing about 7 or 7.30pm. The wages received were for a twelve months contract and a boy of 13 just left school got £6 for a year, only paid at the end of the year, and rose about £2 per year. This works out for a youth about half a crown a week, so after clothing himself you can imagine what he had left to spend on amusement and recreation.
Now how were the few hours of leisure spent? We used to congregate at different places, as I lived at the west end, out favourite meeting places were Joe Hall's turf stack, 4 Lane Ends, or on a Saturday night there was Altys Chip Shop. We had discussions, mostly about work on the various farms, any fresh courting couples, or planning some lark or prank of which we were very fond, but one escapade of ours got beyond a lark, and we were more frightened with it, than the people on whom we played it. We had collected a number of sparrows with riddles round stacks, and quietly approaching a certain house we suddenly opened the door, threw in the sparrows, then shut and held fast the door. What a commotion there was, sparrows flew in all directions, pursued by the occupants of the house, and hanging on to the door outside, we heard the lamp knocked over, and set on fire. We were terrified, and ran for our lives, and for weeks we lived in fear of detection, but fortunately for us we were never suspected. They tried to blame it on another group of boys, who were able to prove satisfactorily that they had not been near the house on that occasion.
Well, in general, we were satisfied with our mode of life, as we had never known anything different, and as to social advancement, the chances were remote. Then suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, on August 4th 1914 our lives were shaken to the very foundation on being told that our country was at war with Germany. That was something very unusual for us to discuss, we met in groups each night to try to learn what was going on, and as in those days we had no wireless to give us the latest news, our custom was for each man in turn to spend 1d on a Daily Post, and read aloud to the company anything new, or startling. Such was the state of things in general and different views were expressed. I remember quite well after the news had been thus read out one evening, one man stated “It can't last longer than three weeks at most” the argument being England, France, and Belgium marching from one side, and Russia from the other, Germany would be crushed like a sandwich in no time, but what a surprise awaited us.
I was then 17 years of age, and the likelihood of any of us ever being in the army was the farmost thoughts in our minds, so little idea had we as to what we were up against, but as time went on, and conscription became general, first one and then other were called to the colours. I was called up when I was 19, then given back word for six months, finally joining up on January 18th 1917, and that brings me to my subject, three years.
Personal account - Part II (Part III to follow)
Reporting with others, at Garstang, we had to take the oath of allegiance, and I was then sent to Fulwood Barracks for the night, and the following day posted on to Lancaster for drafting to a training depot. With two or three more I arrived at Lancaster in the late afternoon, we were shown our sleeping quarters for that night then left to our own devices, so not knowing army rules at that early stage of our career we left the barracks and toured the town, arriving back at barracks about 10pm, where a corporal was waiting for us, and what he said is unprintable, but he concluded by telling us we were under arrest. As to what that meant we were in ignorance but next morning soldiers with rifles and another N.C.O. marched us to someone whom they called O.C. a man with two or three rows of ribbons on his chest, where he had got them I don't know, but what he said to us wasn't in any dictionary. It seems we should have left Lancaster the previous night, by train to Salisbury Plain, but we were missing, but they took good care not to lose us again, we were kept under guard, and as soon as possible were taken to the station en route for Bulford, Salisbury Plain.
It took about a week to rig us up in our uniforms, the Royal Field Artillery, and we commenced training in our civilian clothes, and if ever we had our hearts broken it was there.
January at Bulford was a washout, rain, snow and slutch, army food, and the cold intense, and the training was so severe that when we got up in a morning at first we were so stiff it was almost agony to move, but we soon got over that, and, well, there was a war on so it was no use grumbling.
After we had been there about month, we found out there was such a thing as reporting sick, which some of our men did on the slightest excuse, and which led to disastrous results for all of us. One night as we went in to tea, we found on top of it a white powder. We had no suspicion what it was, and drank our fill, although we thought it tasted rather peculiar but in the army the taste of a thing was very trifling. It was a dreadful night, sleet and rain, so we went to bed early, but about midnight I awoke with terrific pains in the stomach, I dashed out, and what a sight met me. All our company were up, some moaning in pain, some cursing, it was like bedlam, but my word it did cause a row, we refused to go on parade next morning, we daren't, and they could not say anything to us, as they knew the powder had been too strong but it cured anybody from reporting sick without cause.
Personal account Part III ( part IV to follow):
I was sent into the forge for a course of horse shoeing, and after another three months there was put on draft for France, but as I had not had my leave I was allowed 5 days off, and when I returned the draft to France had gone, so I was transferred to one for India, and left England on the Balmoral Castle about 4pm on September 26th, 1917
Sailing in a troopship is a most unpleasant experience at first, and the first morning we couldn't have a roll call as we were all too busy feeding the fishes, but we soon got over that, and had to parade daily for physical jerks, and guards without number. The greatest hardship we had to endure began after the third day at sea. We had been having physical training on deck, when one of the ships officers came along with orders from the Captain that from then onwards we were not allowed on deck in our army boots as the nails in the soles would injure the Decks, and as none of us had any other footgear we had to go barefoot, which was little less than torture. At first it was very cold, but as we approached Sierra Leone, our first port of call, the decks in the daytime became so hot that to step on a small piece of iron burnt our feet, and many had to go in hospital.
We were not allowed to leave the boat at Sierra Leone, we just stopped for water, coal and mails, but the intense heat of the place called the White Mans Grave put a great many on the sick list. After two days stay our ship moved on again, and four weeks after leaving England we arrived at Capetown in Africa, where we berthed for two days, and were allowed on shore, then embarking again we rounded Cape Horn and arrived at Durban, where we left the Balmoral Castle and went ashore to a rest camp for 7 days. Durban is one of the most lovely ports I have ever seen, and what a relief it was to get our feet on firm ground again. The people there were most kind, inviting us to tea, and trying to give us a good time but unfortunately some of their kindness took a wrong turning, and they offered some of the men jobs in Africa if they would desert the army, which a few of them did, with the result that our stay on shore was curtailed, and we boarded another ship, the Caronia.
We sailed up the coast to Port Elizabeth, in German East Africa, where we were not allowed on shore, but spent our time unloading army supplies for the soldiers stationed in this Zone. After eight weeks from leaving England we arrived at Bombay in the early morning, and what a strange sight it was. Natives, busy with all kinds of dock work, were yelling and shouting, a native always makes a tremendous din when at work. Bullocks and camels were there, being used for all kinds of transport, we could see tall palms rearing their heads skywards, and the sun was shining down tinting everything with a glorious hue of pure gold which was beyond description. But we were not there to view the beauties of an Indian sunrise, and disembarkation commenced at once.
Personal account: Part IV....
We moved across the landing stage to a waiting train and thus began a 24 hours journey by rail into Central India, to a place called Trimulgherry on the Deccan Plains, one of the hottest parts of India, and the sun, which was so lovely in the early morning, became almost terrible in its blazing intensity as the day wore on. We were riding in cattle wagons and many collapsed from the terrific heat during that journey. When we arrived we were put in a segregation camp for 14 days before being drafted to our depot, during which period we were innoculated, medically examined, doing guards etc., At night, when all was quiet, the soldiers who had been in India for a few years, and whom we had come to relieve, would gather round the barbed wire asking for news of the old country, where we came from, how soon the war would be over, and in return they gave us all the information possible about India, what our duties would be, and many other interesting items.
Unfortunately the sun at first proved too strong for my eyes, and for a few days I completely lost my sight. I was sent to hospital, and kept in a darkened room, where fortunately I soon recovered, but while ever I stayed in India I always had to wear dark glasses during the day. I was told many people were affected in that way, the glare and the shimmer of the sun affected the optic nerve.
Army life in India is mostly at a regular barracks and with any amount of pomp, ceremony, and show, red tape done, I understand, to duly impress the natives with English power, and greatness. I won't enter into the necessity or otherwise of this at this point. The ordinary day of a Royal Field Artillery Battery began at 5am with Reveille, a cup of tea and a flat biscuit called gunfire, a wash and shave and full dress parade at 6am. It was very seldom they bothered with a roll call, they knew we were too far from home to get away. About 6.30 the battery would move off to tour two or three villages, especially if, as was frequent, the natives were uneasy, and believe me a battery in India, in full marching order is really a great sight. Buttons, harness, and guns flashing in the sun would impress even the most enlightened mind, let alone a poor ignorant native. We returned to barracks about 10am, fed and watered our horses, then to breakfast, with a welcome cup of tea. Breakfast consisted of boiled rice and stew and occasionally, for a change, the stew before the rice. Half an hour was allowed for breakfast, then we went to the stables grooming for an hour. Dinner at 12, more stew and rice, then providing things were quiet, until 2pm we were at liberty, this being the hottest part of the day, normally 113 degrees. We often spent the time lying on our beds, which was not considered the best thing to do. The Doctors told us not to give way too much to the heat, keep out of the sun by all means, but get as much exercise as we reasonably could, and sweat as much as possible. A pal of mine and myself used to go to a covered in swimming pool for an hour every day, and I really think it did us more good than lying around, although the temptation to do so was very great indeed.
At 3pm we again paraded, this time in shorts, for grooming, gun drill, physical training, and the riding school, and as I was a Signaller we also had flag drill, morse reading etc., until 5 o'clock tea time, stew and rice with bread. We were then free, providing it was not our turn for guard or picket duty, and the rest of the daylight we spent in sport, football and hockey, teams from other units meeting ours. I have walked with others often 5 miles, at 103 in the shade, to see our football team walking back after it to a Soldier's home in the district where we could get a decent feed at a cheap rate. These Homes were a great asset to us out there, in fact it was at one of these places that I first saw the idea of a Fellowship such as we have here tonight although it was known as the Pleasant Saturday evening. It was often held in the open air for coolness and I have seen between three and four hundred troops sitting on the ground listening, and joining in the debates, some of which I can remember quite well even yet although they happened over 20 years ago. There was one form of sport we had which had a spice of danger in it, that was snake hunting. The country around Trimulgherry consisted of a lot of volcanic eruptions of a past age, and rocks of dried lava were scattered almost everywhere, with small canyons covered with stunted shrubs and prairie grass. The snakes used to hide in these canyons, and two or three of our party would station themselves at the ends, armed with a stout cane, while the others acting as beaters drove the snakes towards the end where the men were waiting to kill them, and I can assure you we had some very exciting hunts, for sometimes the snakes turned on us, which was very dangerous as the cobra, most poisonous of all snakes, was as common there as sparrows are here, and could glide through undergrowth as fast as a horse could gallop. We were told that more natives died from snake bite than any other cause. If it had not been for such excitements we should have been very bored, for army life in India is apt to become very monotonous, and the heat soon gets you down.
So life went on until on November 11th 1918 as a signaller I was transmitting messages to a station a few miles away when an officer galloped up, and handed me a message of two words only, Armistice signed. I was so surprised I forgot to salute the officer and sign for the message, and was severely reprimanded, but when he left me you can guess I never flagged a message with greater speed. We got very few war news out there, and only letters from home at irregular intervals, but as soon as we knew the armistice had been signed we every day lived in hope and expectation of being sent home for demobilisation, but as months dragged on we were still out there under army rule and strictest discipline so you can understand we all felt very fed up. In October 1919 we were given orders to parade in full marching kit, and were led to believe that at last we were going home, but you can imagine what a shock we got two days later when we got off the train, thinking we were at Bombay en route for England, but instead of that to our great dismay we found ourselves in Jubbulpore, and waiting to receive us were officers and horses with guns, and orders to proceed to an unknown destination. This didn't go down very well with some of the troops, as the war had been over 12 months, and some rather unpleasant scenes took place, some even went so far as to draw out revolvers, but however order was restored, the horses, guns and ammunition were loaded on to the train, and we travelled by rail for four days and nights, and that train journey was absolutely terrible.
We had 3 pints of water each per day, and half a loaf of bread, and crossing the Sind desert in a cattle truck is an experience I don't want to experience again. As we passed different stations it began to dawn on us where we were going, to the North West Frontier, the dread of all soldiers in India. We got off the train at the line end, at a place called Kohat, the station having just a platform and nothing else, as it was used mainly for military supplies, and the movement of troops from one spot to another.
The country there was bare for miles, no vegetation, nothing but soft rolling sand which seemed to burn the very life out of us, with a heat indescribable, and flanked on the horizon with a ridge of mountains whose very tops seemed to disappear into the sky, they were the Himalayas, and these were our destination just as soon as we could reach them, for hidden amongst them were what was known as the “Mad Mullah”, and his followers who had spent several months swooping down on the surrounding villages murdering the inhabitants, stealing all they could lay their hands on, then disappearing again into the mountains. These bandits, for such they were, were men of the Pathan tribe, about 6 feet in height, copper coloured skins, with sandy hair uncut and full beard, and as cruel as the country and surroundings in which they lived. As our ammunition was issued to us, we were told to always save a round for ourselves, as under no circumstances must we allow ourselves to be taken prisoner by these men, as our fate would be torture worse than death.
The journey to those mountains which only seemed a few miles away, took us 14 days, and the heat and dust of a battery of artillery on the move, besides bullock and camel transport, put many of our men out almost, besides which we were on quarter rations, with very little water, as the rainy season had failed and all the natural water supply was dried up, we ourselves actually travelled with the horses and heavy guns for days up what was really a dried up river bed wider than the river Wyre is at Knott End. We were only a small company of white troops, the rest being native infantry, and we had to do a guard each alternate night, and I have slept for miles on horse back during the march, suddenly all would halt and I woke with a start feeling myself slipping off the horse's back, but thirst was our worst problem, often our tongues would swell so much we could scarcely eat. I suppose if we could have drunk as much water as we liked in that state it would have been fatal, but it has left me even to this day with a terror of thirst.
Personal account - final part:
After we reached the Himalayas we made for a small pass known as the Bolan pass going through this into Baluchistan, Afghanistan. This wasn't real fighting as we know it, but a kind of guerilla warfare, ambushing, and sniping, but couldn't those Pathans use a rifle, our men used to say they could hit a fly at 100 yards. The so called roads were in places just a track along the mountain side, and it needed all the skill of the drivers to keep the guns on the road, many a time there was no more than a foot to spare, and it was a nerve wracking job, especially if we had to negotiate a bend, and there were many of these, and we were always climbing, and when a six horse team is pulling all out they are not very easy to steer, and if they had slipped it would be impossible to save them, as it was a sheer drop at the side, almost turning us dizzy if we looked down.
During this time we signallers, who were on single mounts were out on patrol and advance guards, sometimes covering the rear, sometimes three or four miles in advance, scouting the district, and in many places our horses could not get to the top, so one had to stay with them while the rest of us climbed up, viewed whatever we could see of the country, and signalled a report by morse to the battery then returning to our horses we mounted and rejoined our company, and some fine rides we had, the trouble being we were burdened with so much equipment. As near as I can remember a signaller out there carried strapped on himself, a bandolier with fifty rounds of ammunition, his haversack, with towel, soap, shaving outfit, tooth brush, and one days emergency rations, a water bottle, a don three field telephone, a telescope, a pair of field glasses, a heliograph, two morse flags with three feet poles, and a short coil of signalling wire, and strapped on the saddle was our overcoat, blanket, ground sheet, harness cover, rifle bucket (a leather arrangement for putting our rifle in), another bucket with a heliograph stand, and one with two six feet flags, two sempahore flags, and two food bags with the horses rations for the day, so you can understand that after carrying that lot around for a day, the horses, as well as ourselves, were glad to get back to camp.
We were on the move every day, sometimes only covering 16 or 20 miles, but one of the greatest difficulties we had to contend with was the intense cold at night, a strange contradiction to the terrific heat of the day. We often set out in a morning with ice on the drinking water, and then by about 9am sweat would pour out of us, coming through our clothes and running down our equipment straps, but I suppose it was all a part of the campaign. I may mention that on this job we never undressed at night and slept three or four together for warmth the only difficulty with that arrangement was that we signallers had to be on the outside, because we had to sleep with our rifles fastened to us lest they should be stolen, and before lying down we always took out the bolt, to render it useless to an enemy, and so it went on, skirmishes here and there, all night long the whine of rifle bullets as they passed over the camp did not keep us awake, we were too tired, and could I think have slept on a gridiron.
Eventually we reached our objective, an old mud fort, battered and broken down, at a place called Datta Hill. It was an outpost supposed to be garrisoned by native infantry, but they had all disappeared where, we never knew, probably all killed by the raiding Pathans, some said they had deserted over to them, but from the appearance of the fort there had been some kind of scrap, and our hope was that they were all dead rather than prisoners in the hands of those inhuman fiends.
After about a week here, blowing a few of the suspected enemy strongholds to bits, we had a peace palaver on a great plain, each side piling up our arms, then advancing 100 yards towards each other, and after much argument a settlement was reached, but to give you some idea of what their word of honour means to them, that same night they covered us with rifle fire, and I honestly believe these men will always remain a source of trouble and anxiety to India, whether under British or Indian rule.
That night we received orders to return to India, and one soldier got drunk on the strength of it, where he obtained his drink we never knew unless he had managed to get some toddy from the natives. He came into camp late, and picked a quarrel with the sergeant major, whom he struck. He was placed under arrest, and the result of this incident finished my parading days for a long time.
The Battery left early next morning and I was detailed to go with the sergeant major to mind his horse while he took the prisoner for trial at headquarters. When the seargeant major came out we mounted, and the order was full gallop to catch up with the battery as soon as possible. After riding about an hour we came to a ditch, and as a horse holder I was riding six yards behind the sergeant when he put his horse to the ditch expecting it to jump but the horse changed its mind right on the edge and pulled up sharp, and to avoid crashing into him I had to swerve sideways, my horse lost its footing and over we both rolled into the ditch.
The Sergeant Major spurring his horse jumped clean over both me and my horse, which got up, luckily my feet cleared the stirrups, and galloped off leaving me feeling sick and queer in the ditch bottom. As soon as he could the Sergeant Major pulled up, caught my horse, and came to see how I was faring. He told me to hurry up and mount, with other things (I should just like to meet him in civil life and tell him a few things) but when I tried to stand up I was unable to do so, so he told me to try to get help somewhere, took my horse, and left me to my fate. He even took my rifle which was bent double, and I must confess I had the wind up, with visions of what would happen if any Pathans came across me.
My left leg was very painful, I thought it was broken, but I managed to climb to the top of the bank, and saw in the distance some bullock carts approaching, and I thought by crawling about a quarter of a mile, I might get some help or a lift from them. How I managed to crawl I don't know but I got there somehow and when I hailed them they could not understand me, or I them, but eventually they got me on a cart and what a ride it was. The jolts and bumps almost made me feel faint, but it was better than staying in the ditch alone. By nightfall we reached a camp, and passing a Red Cross tent I got off and went inside hoping to find a doctor of some kind, but not one could be found. I was in rather a sad state by this time as I had had no food or water all day, and my leg was swollen and very painful. There was one solitary patient in that tent, a white soldier, and he handed me a bottle, telling me to have a good drink, which I did, not knowing what it was, and my thirst was desperate I drunk ravenously, but he hurriedly took it from me, and he afterwards told me that it was raw whisky, and I don't think he believed me when I told him I was a teetotaller.
Well, to shorten my story, some of our men found me and took me back with them to our own camp, cut off my boots, leggings and pants, and put me to bed for the night, and rode me on a gun carriage during the day, and I travelled like that for four days, unable to get a doctor or any attention anywhere, then we reached a base hospital where I was attended to. My leg was not broken but my knee and ankle were badly sprained, and the cap of my ankle bones was knocked off. I was in hospital for a fortnight then my friends from the battery came and told they were leaving in two days time for Jubbulpore, en route for England and demobilisation. This made me very anxious, and as soon as the doctor came round I told him how I was fixed, and with some persuasion he allowed me to go with them, on condition that I would keep on the splints, and my friends carried me from the hospital to any vehicle available, and on to the train, and so we got back to Jubbulpore on Christmas Eve 1919.
We always promised ourselves a bumper feed when we could get to the YMCA at Jubbulpore, so I ordered a steak and kidney pie, bread and butter, and cocoa, the others having something similar, but when it was set before us, the sight and smell of food turned us sick, and we couldn't touch it. I think it was because we had been so long without decent food, but I remember quite well our disappointment.
We were only at Jubbulpore for two days being sent from there to Dooballi, then on to Bombay, where we sailed for home on January 1st 1920, and after 21 days sailing via the Suez Canal, we arrived at Plymouth, went through the usual demobilisation routine and then home, and so ended three years of my life which I shall never forget.
The "small" Bolan Pass: and some locals......
Attachment 51232 Attachment 51233
The first Anglo-Afghan war makes interesting reading......