Men who changed the course of history

Battle of Gheluvelt Anniversary: Act of Remembrance, Gheluvelt Park, Worcester (Sunday, October 26).

HUMAN destiny so often turns on the proverbial spin of a coin, and so it was with this action that took place during the initial stages of the First World War.

For more than a century, historians and assorted academics have pondered the significance of the courageous counterattack by a few hundred exhausted, battle-worn soldiers of 2^nd Battalion the Worcestershire Regiment in the fading light of that Flanders autumn day, Saturday, October 31, 1914.

Of course, more ordinary folk will probably have come to the obvious conclusion, without too much scholarly pontification.

For had the men of Worcestershire not booted the Germans out of this village near Ypres, Belgium, at the point of the bayonet, then future world history might have turned out very differently indeed.

The victorious Germans would have taken Ypres, swept on to the Belgian channel ports, and Britain would have been obliged to sue for a humiliating peace – with all that would entail.

But thanks to the Worcesters, this was not to be the case. And no one should ever forget this. Yes, that proverbial spin of a coin…

On Sunday, in the same thin, dying sunlight that probably illuminated the Worcesters’ charge across nearly a mile of open country from Polygon Wood to Gheluvelt, civic dignitaries and a scattering of the aforementioned ordinary folk paid homage to these men of Field Marshal Sir John French’s ‘contemptible little army’, famously dismissed with these words by Kaiser Wilhelm, who had ordered his generals to drive the British into the sea.

Unfortunately for him, Tommy Atkins and his mates – the best, most deadly riflemen in the world – had other ideas. And from Mons to the Marne, the Aisne up to Wipers, those musketry skills would cost the Germans dear.

But over that blood-soaked mile up to Gheluvelt, the Worcesters were met with a hail of rifle and mortar fire themselves, with 187 men falling, 34 of whom were killed. On Sunday, as tradition requires, their names were read out.

Ordinary men with ordinary names. Thomas, George, Ernest. Albert, Arthur, John. William, Harry, Robert. Ordinary men who did extraordinary things, all of them either a son, brother, husband, father or someone’s sweetheart.

Now lying lifeless in some God-forsaken, rain-lashed muddy field in Belgium. Each name rings in one’s head like a bugle call, prompting a wetness in the eye that defies the passage of more than a century.

The service, conducted by the Rev Peter Davies, county chaplain, Royal British Legion, Worcestershire followed the familiar yet eternally moving format with prayers, Last Post, laying of wreaths and The Exhortation.

During the minute’s silence, my thoughts turned to great-uncle Second Lieutenant Ernest Phillpott, of Ist Battalion the Northamptonshire Regiment, the surviving remnants of which were positioned straddling the Menin Road on that fateful day. There was to be no retreat, no surrender, came the orders. Every man had to fight until the last bullet.

The first German massed infantry assault that morning was shot flat by the rapid rifle fire of the British infantry. However, with mounting casualties, a second wave successfully broke through and overwhelmed the defenders, my relative suffering a serious gunshot wound.

All appeared lost, but less than three hours later, the last reserves left to deploy – the Second Worcesters – had miraculously managed the impossible and saved the day, thereby denying the Germans the quick victory that they had originally anticipated.

Yes, ordinary men. And it was all down to the bravery of these ordinary men, men of Worcestershire whose lot was not to reason why but to do or die.

Footnote: In October 2016, with the help of Worcester councillor and twice mayor of the city, the late Mike Layland, I planted an oak sapling in Gheluvelt Park. This had been grown from an acorn I picked up off the woodland floor near the Belgian village in 2014, on the centenary of the battle.

I’m happy to report that the tree is flourishing, and long may that be the case. Just like the memory of the Worcestershire soldiers who, through their courage and determination all those years ago, helped make the happier tomorrows that we now all enjoy.