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Contemptible

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Contemptible
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Author(s): Casualty
Date Published: 2012/04
Page Count: 148
Softcover ISBN-13: 978-0-85706-873-6
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-0-85706-872-9

An ‘Old Contemptible’ recounts the campaign of 1914

At the outbreak of the First World War, units of the British regular army—the B. E. F—were despatched to the continent to assist the French in an attempt to stem the tide of the advancing Imperial German Army as it marched inexorably towards Paris. The enemy viewed the ‘Tommies’ as ‘that contemptible little army.’ In that way peculiar to the British the insult became a byword for courage and honour as the highly trained and motivated soldiers in khaki demonstrated just what a contemptible little army could do. However, this was a war of attrition and despite the ‘contemptibles’ magnificent performance the ‘grey horde’ could not initially be halted. What followed was the memorable retreat from Mons. The author of this book was a subaltern officer serving in one of the county regiments of the B. E. F and chose as his title for this book the proudly worn designation ‘Contemptible.’ Although the book was written under a pseudonym it is widely believed that the writer was Arnold Gyde who served with the South Staffordshire Regiment and was one of the first British soldiers to set foot on the continent. Although the account of this vital aspect of the opening months of the conflict is presented in a ‘factional’ style it is clearly based on the author’s first hand experiences.
Leonaur editions are newly typeset and are not facsimiles; each title is available in softcover and hardback with dustjacket.

On account of a possible underestimation of the enemy’s strength, and of the completeness of his dispositions, the Allies found themselves, when the lines first clashed, in a more serious position than they probably anticipated. The enemy gained two initial successes that decided, past doubt, the fate of the battle which was now raging along the whole front from Mons to Mülhouse. Namur, the fortress which had enjoyed a reputation as the Port Arthur of Europe, fell before the weight of the German siege howitzer in a few days. The magnitude of the disaster appalled the whole world, for indirectly the piercing of these forts laid open the road to Paris.<br>
Nor was this all. The enemy forced the passage of the Sambre at Charleroi, and threatened to cut the Allied centre from the left. The British Army, on the extreme left, found itself confronted by a numerical superiority of nearly three to one, while its left flank and lines of communication with Havre were seriously menaced by a huge body of Uhlan cavalry. In a word, the positions taken up by the whole of the Allied centre and left were no longer tenable. To hang on would have been to court disaster. There was nothing for it but to cut and go.<br>
But the Allies did not meet with the same ill luck along the whole line. The small successes gained on the right, in Alsace, had apparently been consolidated. The German tide through Luxembourg was stemmed, and, even though the Kaiser himself witnessed its bombardment, Nancy held out. But the trump card in the Allies’ hand was Verdun. De Castlenau clung resolutely to the chain of forts crowning the heights in front of the town, and his successful defence saved Paris. Whatever might happen to the centre and left, the right, at any rate, seemed safe.<br>
The Allied generalissimo was forced to give way before the fury of the German onslaught in Belgium. He withdrew his armies while there was yet time, thus averting irrevocable disaster. According to all the rules of the game, he should have retired his whole line southwards, in order to ensure the safety of Paris. But he did not throw his highest trump: he clung to Verdun, and left Paris exposed. His armies retreated, not on the capital, but in a sweeping movement that was hinged upon Verdun. He realised that the fate of Paris depended not upon its being covered by the Allies, but upon the fate of the second great battle of the war.<br>
Meanwhile, the great retreat—this hinging movement—continued, very slowly near Verdun, very, very swiftly on the left. Days passed; no attempt was made to check the enemy’s advance, and the passing of each day left Paris more exposed. The world gasped at the breathless swiftness with which disaster seemed to be swooping down upon the capital. But every day de Castlenau was consolidating his defence of Verdun, in face of tremendous odds; and every day the ferocity of the German onrush waned.<br>
The line continued to swing resolutely back, until such time as a completed mobilisation should allow the Allies to turn upon the enemy in greater force, in their own time, and on chosen ground. A premature effort would have spoiled all. They had to wait for their chance.
Meanwhile, rapid concentrations of reserves were taking place behind the line, the most famous instance of which was the reserve army moved out of Paris by General Galliéni in taxis, fiacres, and any vehicle the authorities could commandeer to ensure that the army should be in its place in time. It was in its place.<br>
Just as the world was beginning to say that the war was over, General Joffre decided that the iron was hot, that the time to strike had arrived. “The moment has come,” he wrote, “to die where you stand, rather than give way.”<br>
The outlook changed from black to rose with the completeness and ease of a pantomime transformation scene. The Verdun heights remained impregnable. The whole line turned and fought where it stood. The enemy, worn out by his exertions, stretched his line of communications to breaking-point, and it was said that his supplies of food and munitions had come temporarily very near to collapse. The Allies checked him. He could not even hold his own. In two days he was moving back, away from Paris.<br>
The economic reasons were not the only factors in his downfall. He was beaten by the Allied morale, and also by the Allied strategy. Von Kluck, the commander of the German right, hurrying on in an abortive pursuit of the British Army, found that he was outflanked by the army of Galliéni, which, stronger than his own, threatened his line of communications. To press on towards Paris would have been suicidal. To linger in his present position would have been to court capture. He, therefore, began the famous march across the French front, by which he hoped to gain touch with the army on his left, and as he turned, the British and French fell upon him simultaneously, as in a vice. For a day the line wavered irresolutely, then Von Kluck realised that the pendulum of success was beginning to swing the other way. He had to retire or face irretrievable disaster.<br>
Thus Paris was saved. The tremendous blow aimed at it was parried, and it seemed as if the striker tottered, as if he had overreached his strength. The treachery with which the Germans had inaugurated the movement, the brutality and cruelty with which they had carried it through, were brought to nothing before the superior morale of the Allied troops, and the matchless strategy of their commander.<br>
The enemy was checked along the whole line, but the Allies were not satisfied with that. The French flung themselves upon the invader with a ferocity and heroism that was positively reminiscent of the Napoleonic legends. General Foch, in command of the general reserve, achieved the culminating success in this victory, known as the Battle of the Marne. He broke the enemy’s line: he thrust into the gap a wedge so powerful that the enemy was forced to give way on either side of it, because his centre was broken. The victory of the Marne was assured.<br>
Slowly at first, latterly with increasing speed, the Allies were hurling the enemy northwards. He was becoming more demoralised every day. A victory even greater than the Marne was in sight.
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