60 centimetres and the battle of the stomachs

We are sorry that we won't be able to attend the 16mm Modellers' AGM at Stoneleigh on April 27th. We wish all our friends a good day and happy steaming! When war was declared in 1914, both sides had their reasons for assuming it would soon be over. The Germans believed that they could score a mighty victory in the west before having to turn east to defeat the Russians. The British and French believed that the Germans would soon run out of nitrates to create ammunition. Both sides were to be disappointed in their hope of a quick victory. The nearer the Germans were to Paris, the more exiguous the supply lines. Nearly half a million got to within 40 kilometres of Paris but by then they were exhausted. They were threatened by flank attacks to both sides. If they couldn’t find food, they often found alcohol. Thirsty as well as hungry it was hard to make plans and easy to drink to excess.

The picture above shows an artist's impression of trench warfare on a good day; trench life was going to be the general experience of the Western Front. Both sides discovered that their enemies were resourceful, resilient and determined. The Germans were pushing forward until early September. Then they went into reverse. ‘Under our eyes’ reported a British Major in the valley of the Marne, ‘the enemy wheeled round and retired.’ The Germans fell back to a better line of supply and started to dig in. The pursuit was checked and the British and French dug in. From this ad hoc beginning came two lines of trenches, facing one another. The Allies waited in vain for enemy guns to fall silent; the Germans had a new supply of nitrate and therefore explosives. The infantry were even more disappointed than the Top Brass. Trench warfare turned out to be heavy work with the all present risk of injury, carried out twenty hours a day in the cold. In order to fuel this effort, the poilu – French soldier – was allotted a theoretical 4,500 kilocalories per day (roughly four times that in kilojoules). It is not clear if the ration of ¼ litre of wine, also rich in calories, was on top. Over the course of the War, the amount of this cheer increased, in some parts to ¾ litre. The British Tommy received an equally theoretical 4200 kcal daily. They also received a largely Platonic rum ration. It came in a stoneware jar labelled SRD - service rations department. Wags invented new names – Seldom Reaches Destination or Soon Runs Dry.

The picture above shows food carriers at work - in a prison camp but wil give an idea of the difficulty involved in transport of meals. The drawing is by J. Simont from notes made by a medic. The two French soldiers portrayed carried their soup kettle by hand side by side. The Russians slung their kettle from a pole and carried it in pairs, single file. We must not neglect the Germans. Their ration, just under 4000 kcal, was scientifically calculated to enable the soldier to carry out his duties. If you want to know what it looked like, this was 200g of bread, 500g of biscuit, 375g fresh meat, 1.5 kilos of potatoes (or smaller amounts in fresh veg), 18g sugar and, definitely not part of the modern Recommended Daily Allowance, around 20g of tobacco. The Tommy had something similar; only more meat with cheese and bacon and ¼ pound of jam as well. Few received their full ration regularly. Most food had to be prepared behind the lines. It was then carried along communication trenches to the Front. A full load of bottles were quickly smashed. Loaves seldom reached the Front intact. Biscuit or chocolate could be fairly simply

could be carried in backpacks, but tins and the soldiers’ post were jammed on top. Worst of all were the containers of soup, stew or coffee; try carrying them along zigzagging trenches! These metal containers were positively dangerous. As they reflected the light, they created a prime target for snipers who knew the route of the communication trenches. We can see from the advertisement above promoting Vinay Milk Chocolate that the manufacturers knew just how popular a choccy bar would prove if other rations didn't arrive. Gradually, distribution became organised. The Germans were first. They had come into the War with 1000 kilometres of 60cm gauge railways. These could be rapidly laid with little ground preparation and were invaluable for reducing the distance that human porters had to carry supplies. They also had Field Kitchens, affectionately known as Gulaschkanonen – goulash cannons – the official name was Heeresfeldkuche / army field kitchens. The appliances were well-insulated and used glycerine in the double-boiler to stop food from burning. The larger of them, Modell 1911, had a 200 litre cauldron and a water boiler for preparing hot drinks. The smaller, Modell 1912, just had the cauldron. A 1913 version included a roasting oven. How could you improve on perfection? (The British never quite succeeded in perfecting their field kitchens; they kept desperately producing new variants.)

The French were slower off the mark than the Germans in providing field transport and kitchens. Although they had the invaluable Péchot system of prefabricated rail, there was only about 600 km of it, already being used for defensive purposes. The picture above, courtesy of the Péchot family shows two loaded bogie wagons, one carrying stores for humans, the other forage for horses. By 1915, they had ordered more rail and rolling stock. Special schools were set up to train the soldiers in their use. In the field, they had their Soyer stoves, first used during the Crimean War. You will be pleased to know that the conscripts were checked to see if any were chefs de cuisine and their talents were put to good use.

This picture, taken by Jim Hawkesworth in the 1950s at Amberley quarry,shows an elderly but well-laden War Department D-class bogie wagon. British War Department Light Railways did not come into existence until late 1916 and so the British were ‘making do’ for far longer. The safest way to get food to the Front was in tins. Thomas Atkins used his ingenuity to warm up his supplies, sometimes with a commandeered stove, sometimes with candles. A tin of Maconochie stew could be opened and then placed over a ring of empty tins with half a dozen candles fitted into the centre. With this improvised chafing dish, the food soon warmed up. More usually the contents of the tin, whether Maconochie, bully beef or jam was consumed cold off a bayonet blade. Tinned food was easier to carry but unfortunately, less easy to inspect, a fact which the war profiteers soon realised. The stuff they put in the jam rather than fruit and sugar! exclaimed a British soldier. When the USA entered the War soldiers claimed they were being forced to eat Monkey Meat. There was less tinned food for the Germans. As the War dragged on, quality and quantity decreased, not because food couldn’t be carried or cooked but because of the blockade. By 1917, daily rations were often reduced to 300g of bread and a litre of thin soup. They were constantly hungry.

I mentioned the post. Letters to and from the Front were enthusiastically sent and received. The drawing above, also by J. Simont, shows a soldier in a trench writing home by torchlight. On each side of him are sleeping comrades. To his right is the profile of the soldier doing sentry duty. In a previous blog, I mentioned gifts that the ingenious poilu would craft from spent ammunition. In return ‘home’ sent a variety of comforts. The French sent wine of course, preserved meats, chocolate and various patent foods, such as Phoscao chocolate flavoured breakfast food, Poulain Supraliment (superfood) and Vitry chocolate. The manufacturers advertised these enthusiastically in the Home press. French ladies in particular were encouraged to become marraines/godmothers to the heroes at the Front. You could of course put yourself down to be adopted by more than one benign lady but that meant a lot of extra correspondence. The British were urged to commission Fortnums Hampers; every family sent supplies according to their means. These parcels travelled along with all other essential supplies. From the post offices, they were taken by Standard or Metre Gauge train to the major centres – Amiens, Epernay etc. Then they went to trans-shipment centres nearest the Front. They were loaded on to the 60cm trench supply network then taken to bases near the Front. Packed on top of the rations, they were carried by brave over-laden messengers up the zigzag communication trenches. Finally they arrived at the dugouts at the Front. What happened, you may ask to mis-directed mail or, sadly, to the mail for the many casualties? There was an unspoken rule that parcels (not letters) were opened and enjoyed by the soldier’s mates – one way of toasting the memory of a former comrade.

For more information, consult ‘Hunger – supply and shortages on the Western Front’ and ‘Colonel Péchot: Tracks To The Trenches’ Illustrations are author’s own except for the sketches of Péchot bogie wagons carrying supplies - courtesy of the Péchot family and the photograph of te D-class WD wagon courtesy of Jim Hawkesworth.

Von Tirpitz Coastal Battery Of German Artillery Though the German army never had a system of fortifications equivalent to the vast places fortes on the French frontier, see previous blogs, their defensive structures developed quickly up to and including the 1914-18 war. They had 60cm railways in readiness for offensive warfare which were quickly adapted for trench supply. Their trench systems were well designed. A whole blog post should be given over to the matter. This blog focusses on one particular system, a battery designed to harry Channel shipping and protect their trenches.

The photograph shows its importance; it has attracted heavy naval shelling as can be seen from all the craters. It was supplied by a double-track 60 centimetre (the term used by 'Illustration') railway just visible running along in front of the four circular gun emplacements. A description of this fortification at Ostend appeared in ‘Illustration’ Magazine in November 1918. The writing is partisan, but interesting. The journalist slithers between admiration for the brave poilus who retook the massive fort – implying great courage - and contempt for the Germans. They were at once stupid to his mind and also crafty and underhand. I’ll give you the flavour of his account and get in some mention of 60cm railways. 60cm is the English translation of voie de 60 which is the more normal French name for that railway gauge. Yet it was not used in this French language publication. The reasons for these linguistic gymnastics deserve a blog to themselves. The ‘Illustration’ article centres round the von Tirpitz gun battery, the most westerly of a chain along the coast of occupied Belgium. It was particularly well-placed for its job and was named for Admiral von Tirpitz who is (dis) credited with devising total submarine warfare. This doctrine basically identified all ships, including civilian even if owned and operated by neutral countries, as combatants if they were even partially involved in Allied trade. This doctrine hurt the Allies who were supplied by sea more than were the Central Powers. Threats to respond in kind were no taken too seriously.

The map showing the coast from Ostend to Dunkirk places the von Tirpitz battery in the south-west suburbs of Ostend. Its armaments had a range of 25 kilometres. Thus it threatened both Channel shipping and the Yser front, where the trench systems of both belligerents met the North Sea. The local soil was sandy, both good and bad for construction; good because earth sheltering was relatively easy to arrange, not so good because deep foundations for walls and platforms were necessary. The complex took nearly a year to construct but after that, as long as repairs and improvements continued, it was nearly impregnable. The long range was possible because of its 280mm naval guns, four in all. Of its many targets, Nieuport, on the French side of the Yser Front, was most affected but the port of La Panne was also vulnerable. The guns had a network of observers based at ‘telemeters’ - literally distance measurers. These tall masts were observation points for range-finding. The photo shows one lying across its concrete base; you can see the camouflage paint quite clearly. A common gibe levelled at the Germans of 14-18 was that they didn’t understand camouflage. If they didn’t at the beginning of the war, they were fast learners. In the centre background of the photo, another mast which is still upright can be seen. Two soldiers in the foreground give an idea of scale.

The four gun emplacements were circular concrete enclosures 15 metres in diameter and approximately 4 metres deep. See the aerial photo above. The concrete helped shelter the operators. The guns, manoeuvred by electric motors, were designed for different angles of fire. Those with a higher angle of fire, two out of every four, were in slightly deeper enclosures. The photo below shows the arrangement. A gun is pointing straight at the cameraman, the second is pointing up. To each side of these enclosures were earth sheltered ammunition stores, also protected by 2 metres of concrete. They were supplied by a double-tracked 60cm railway, an example of the Heeresfeldbahn, German military narrow gauge.

The Prussian Army had kept an eye on developments in Wales where the Festiniog Railway used 2’ gauge to great effect. In the 1870s, however, German narrow gauge concentrated on metre gauge with 750 mm a poor second. By 1882, they were looking carefully at the military narrow gauge devised by Paul Decauville and their establishments at Sperenberg conducted trials with 600 and 720mm gauge. In the meantime, Prosper Péchot had devised his voie de 60 military system. By 1886, trials were taking place at the fortifications around Toul, in those days, near the German frontier. By the following year, Prussian Army research concentrated on horse-drawn 60cm gauge and the year after, when the Péchot-Bourdon locomotive was unveiled, suspiciously similar bogie wagons were drawn by suspiciously similar locomotives. After about 1890, the French lost their lead in the development of their military railways, but the Prussians and all the other German States kept revising and improving theirs. The von Tirpitz battery benefitted from all this. The D-lok, pulling the Brigadewagen, was needed to shift all that cement for defence, and then the constant supply of 280mm shells for attack, not to mention constant repairs and improvements. The drawing, courtesy of Eric Fresné, shows the early Brigadewagen.

The entrance to the establishment was guarded by a further gun, and a barrack for the Other Ranks. The officers were housed in a smaller, more discreet shelter. On its substantial concrete roof were based two anti-aircraft machine guns. The whole complex was surrounded by barbed wire to discourage too much interest from civilians. There was a substantial raid in 1916. Two guns were damaged, a claim verified by aerial photography. Repairs were rapidly effected and the battery remained active until the German retreat in late 1918. As a parting shot, the Germans laid booby-trap bombs before they left. The photo below shows sinister cables sneaking from the 280mm calibre gun running out into the sands where the detonators lurked. It also shows camouflage paint in use. Boooby-traps are not pleasant but neither is war. The more damage the Germans could do, the better the peace deal they could arrange, was their reasoning. If the Allies had had a chance to prepare such traps before the German Spring Offensive 1918, would they have behaved any differently? It was a good example of fortification used successfully. Other forts had failed under enemy attack. Sometimes they were poorly sited or their defences were outdated, sometimes they had not been properly supported or maintained.

The illustratio9sn are from the author’s collection except for the drawing by Eric Fresné See: Eric Fresné 70 années de Chemins de fer betteraviers LR Presse, Auray, France 2007 Sarah Wright Colonel Péchot: Tracks To The Trenches Birse Press 2014 Illustration Magazine Paris 9th November 1918 Eric Fresné is currently writing a book about 19th century French voie de 60 railways. We’ll supply further details in due course.

The illustration below shows a British gun mounted on a Péchot wagon - the 16mm model gun was made by Mr Milner, the wagon is Wrightscale and the photo was taken by James Hawkesworth. Thanks are due to all three modellers involved.

The French Army, led by the inspiring Colonel Péchot, devised a system of portable railways which should have given them an advantage when it came to trench supply during the First World War. The truth was more nuanced, though the French made all possible propaganda points that they could. German guns were not brought to the Front by Péchot wagons. They were, however, quite good at shelling the opposition. The French tried to turn this fact into evidence of the brave fighting spirit of their Army.

‘The most desired gift from the Front’, declared Illustration magazine, ‘was jewellery crafted from spent ammunition, preferably German.’ Ladies were wild to possess a ring made by French soldiers in quiet hours from debris picked up from the battlefield. The fuse found in the front of a German 77mm shell was particularly prized, consisting as it did of a ring of just about the right size for a lady’s finger. The lower section, being larger and more chunky, could be turned into one for a man.

At first, the off-duty poilu (French soldier) simply used a penknife and then improvised files from the squad’s toolkits. Machine-gunners had a larger range of files to choose from; but everyone at the Front had a bayonet available. Because a bayonet blade is conic in section, the gentle steel curve, is ideal for sculpting aluminium.

Now that they were bitten by the bug, the poilus got more ambitious. They began to melt the metal to get better shapes. As they used helmets or spoons as crucibles, they must have been using other scrap metal; the melting point of aluminium is much higher than steel. Bellows to drive the smelting fire were improvised from bayonet bag, Army issues. Hollow tent pegs, Army issue being cylindrical, were used as moulds.

The mould was cut open with the sharpened blade of a spade, Army issue. Scraps of ornamental copper, also scavenged from German ordinance, could be set into the ring with the awl found in the squaddie’s toolkit, Army issue. Further engraving could be done with an entrenching tool, Army issue, and a final polishing was effected with a lump of hardwood, suitably moistened. You can imagine that jewellery making, with its joyful repurposing of Army property, was at first discouraged. But seeing how well it was received by the Home Front, and how it alleviated boredom, even giving the troops something to look forward to when they were bombarded, it became a symbol of military resilience and ingenuity. Even the naïveté of design became art to be celebrated.

The folks back home were treated to brave propaganda. The thing was, though, the German artillery had many more 'howitzer' type guns which could lob shells over the trenches on to the heads of their enemies. What is more, the guns did not need elaborate preparations for getting them into position on the battlefield. This one could be towed by four soldiers. Slightly larger ones needed a horse.

Illustrations are from the author's collection and from James Hawkesworth.

Trench Life before 60cm railways

Trench Life and matters of some delicacy Georges Michel, French volunteer and artist, had first hand experience of life at the Front in the early months. This was before they were supplied by military narrow gauge. In 'Illustration' Magazine, he recalled the winter of 1914/15. He accomapanied this account with sketches.Two, from the author's collection, are shown ‘I started with my head full of stories of bygone wars. I expected to charge the enemy courageously; my uniform would gleam in gold and red, sabres glinting as we followed our battle standards. Instead, I found myself in a long-drawn-out nothingness of accompanied by the constant whistle of bullets and shells.

The character of modern warfare has changed. Most activity was at night. Patience had become more important than élan, a deadly stillness more common than action; hiding from rather than showing ourselves to the enemy; shrinking back rather than advancing. We had to exchange our proud colourful uniforms for dull camouflage. We cowered in muddy darkness. The mud … Their arrival 1914 had been inauspicious. On arriving at the Front, they were assigned a guide who led them out of the relative safety of the existing trenches. ‘At first we went into the pitch-black at a run. Then a stray bullet caught a comrade in the leg and he screamed. Even while we waited for the stretcher bearers, the place was lit by what we thought was artificial moonlight. In fact, it was a flare that the enemy had just fired. We stood transfixed as the rocket curved upwards and then gently downwards. After that, the bullets began. There was nothing for it but to find a ditch and crawl through freezing water. Finally, our guide indicated ‘Here!’ It was plain ground, no trench had been dug and our task was to dig it so that we could each could shelter in his own little fox-hole. It’s amazing how fast you ca dig when there are bullets in the air, so fast that we hardly noticed our soaking clothes. In the fitful light of enemy flares we could see their trenches, a bare 200 metres away, separated by a no-man’s-land populated by corpses. In the first light, we saw a wood also populated with bodies. WThere was even a dismembered leg on our new spoil-tip, still clad in its boot.

Gradually, we were to extend our own little holes into an extension of the trench system, to the shrill demented music of shell-fire. But now that day was breaking, all we could do was to hunker down and wait for dusk. During the day, another unwary comrade raised himself slightly. It was enough. He was shot through the head, stone-dead. Another was hit in his hand. He had to wait hours before nightfall brought a stretcher party. The more fortunate of us occupied the long hours by chewing our iron rations very, very slowly. On the fourth day of interminable cold and wet, they were relieved. By then, mud and rain had so soaked our clothing that they weighed more than our equipment. Believe me, mud and freezing rain were our main enemies! In this, Georges Michel was quite correct. These squalid conditions transformed healthy soldiers into invalids and infection the invalids into the dying. These matters were little touched on by Officialdom – it was alright to talk of Trench Foot but not of bacterial and fungal infection of other parts. The filth, mud and lack of drinking water created an epidemic of urinary tract infections. The recommened treatment for these is: Drink copious fluid, seek a warm, dry and equable environment and if possible take a tonic which alters the pH of urine.’ Modern antibiotics were not available but there were such preparations as lemon barley water and Mist. Pot. Cit. taken well diluted. Fat chance of any of this when stuck in a trench! The conditions were bad enough for very young men, but many were in early middle age. In their forties, their ‘Down-Belows’ should have been treated with more consideration.

The British were quiet about such things, but the French Press showed concern for its soldiers, if the advertising sections were to be believed. As well as a bandaged officer pictured with a beautiful nurse hovering over him, ‘cures’ and ‘tonics’ were introduced with illustrations of huge kidneys being scrubbed down by medical orderlies. The British public would faint if confronted by a Malphigian structure even if only in a black-and-white drawing. The advertisement shown appeared constantly in the French Press and so it must have gained sales for Urodonal products. In Britain the very mention of Uri** would have been considered rude.

This popular advertisement explained that Urodonal ‘was an energetic antiseptic. The medicine acts as an energetic antiseptic against microbes encumbering urinary paths. Even Gonococcus can be overcome. Its active ingredient is a recently discovered salt, balifostan, which is a bicamphorate of santalol and dioxybenzol. Its therapeutic properties have been shown to foster rapid recovery with no embarrassing side effects.’ (Like you, I have no idea what balifostan is, though some other terms might be meaningful to a chemist.) Best of all, this wonder drug would be delivered in discreet packaging to members of the armed forces.

As the War ground on, there was some relief. Gradual adoption of trench railways, most notably the Péchot system and later on the War Department Light Railways brought regular water supplies to the Front, though never enough. The railways also brought fuel and construction timber to the Front so that there was some chance of safe walk-ways and shelter. Illustrations - from the author's collection, show interiors of a trench First Aid Post. As can be seen, it has been carved into the lee of a trench system. The window proves that it is earth sheltered but benefits from natural daylight. A stove provides warmth. It is not quite Elysée Palace but better than conditions in December 1914. And the German trenches? That is another story.

The picture of the water tank is courtesy of the family Raymond Pechot All copyrights reserved Colonel Péchot: Tracks To The Trenches Birse Press 2014 Illustration Magazine especially 3rd July 1915

The Péchot System and Morocco

In 1882, the young Captain Péchot conceived a system of portable railways to be used for military transport. The aim of his original plan was to attack the German Empire, formed a mere eleven years previously. The photo shows Péchot on one of his locomotives, the Péchot-Bourdon 0-4-4-0

The ‘worked example’ he used of his system in action was a plan to recapture the fortified city of Metz, a particularly emotive site. Metz was in the ‘lost provinces’ which France had been obliged to hand over to Germany. At the core of his plan was a prefabricated railway of 60cm gauge. This narrow gauge system could be laid with minimal preparation yet could convey serious tonnage. It would be possible for an attacking army to reach a convenient railhead, and then transport guns, ammunition and other necessaries to a suitable artillery park. Then, he reasoned, they could make short work of enemy fortifications. When the system was officially adopted, six long years later, the French Army wanted it for defence, not for attack as Péchot had wanted. Outside France, beginning in 1888 the Péchot system was used for attack. The story which follows is more than somewhat short in political correctness, but it is history and the tale should be told. When the Navy wished to impress a point upon some uppity local administration, a ship would draw up beside their coral strand, unload a freighter with guns and a prefabricated railway and send them into action. They had four such ‘kits’. Short 60cm lines also existed in Tunisia between Sousse and Kairouan, and in Algeria to connect out-of-the-way places such as the Ras-el-ma-Redjem-Djemouch and Marhoum, and other small extensions running west of Kralfallah and Tiaret respectively (south of Oran. The most impressive 60cm gauge network was built in Morocco. The map below shows Morocco in relation to Algeria, which the French colonised bit by bit during the 19th century, and Spain.

The reasons for choosing a narrow guage rather than standard or metre gauge were political. Unlike most North African territories, throughout the 19th century, Morocco had eluded the armies, navies and diplomacy of European countries. Spain was an exception: it had territory between in the Tangiers area adjoining the Straights of Gibraltar. For most Moroccans transport depended on ships, donkeys and camels. In 1887, a Belgian took a small demonstration railway to the Sultan and a French trade mission tried again in 1901. In 1908, a 50cm line was built out of Casablanca in the direction of Rabat, for the ‘protection of Europeans’ who got involved in a power struggle between claimants to the throne. No doubt for purely disinterested motives, Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II insisted on putting a halt to nationalistic interference in a free and sovereign State. A treaty was solemnly signed in 1911, binding all Great Powers. None were to build a railway on Moroccan soil for carriage of people or goods. No-one thought to include temporary and portable railways in the ban. Almost immediately, the French government saw a reason to build one. In that very year, a new pretender to the throne emerged and sought to capture Fez, in the foothills of the Atlas. The French wanted to mount a rescue for their civilians, but as they were starting from Casablanca, this was going to be a stretch. They planned a railway which, they explained was for purely military and not economic reasons from the coast up to Fez. The Péchot system – non-permanent of course – fitted their parameters. The French created a base which they called Port Lyautey (modern name Knitra) and started on their railway.The photo below shows an 0-6-0 'Joffre' class locomotive going over a wadi. For a temporary railway, it uses quite impressive civil engineering!The photo is courtesy of Jim Hawkesworth.

The plan was poorly received, both by the Moroccans and by Kaiser Wilhelm. Even the name of the new port set alarm bells ringing. Colonel, later Marshall Lyautey, terror of southern Algeria, was not widely loved by the locals. In addition, the new line was hardly a temporary railway. German agents and local observers saw building supplies arriving at Casablanca by the boatload. To create a way through the foothills of the Atlas mountains, even for the lightest of track, serious civil engineering was needed. It was obvious that 60cm gauge would soon be replaced with standard. I think I heard you asking, so here is a more detailed picture of the 'Joffre' locomotive, courtesy of Armley Museum.It is one supplied by Kerr, Stuart Ltd to the French government in 1916; of the 70 plus which were supplied by various makers, a number worked not on the Western Front but in Morocco.

When things quietened down around Fez, it might have seemed that the railway was no longer needed. On the contrary, the French set about extending their railway system along the coast. By 1912, 3000 tonnes of track, 20 locomotives and 150 assorted items of rolling stock, not to mention vast amounts of engineering stores and pre-fabricated bridges had been unloaded at Casablanca. By December 1912, they had reached Fort Lyautey/Knitra and were ready to complete the route to Fez. In 1913, they were pushing north towards Tangiers and south to Marrakech. An existing 50cm railway going in the Marrakesh direction was re-gauged. Orders for material included the Decauville 0-6-0 T (some of these 'Joffre' class were rebadged Kerr Stuart productions) and the Weidknecht 4-6-0T as well as the 0-4-4-0 Péchot-Bourdon locomotive. By 1916, a version of the Baldwin 4-6-0T, also well-known on the Western Front appeared. To my mind, the most wondrous locomotive of all was the 16 tonne 06-60 articulated tender ‘Série 6000’ that was ordered in 1912 and delivered in 1914. Soon on order were carriages, one hundred guards’ vans and 1200 wagons of various sorts, including 50 water tankers.

The photo above, courtesy of Jim Hawkesworth, shows the Decauville Série 6000 ‘Marocaine.’ This is remembered with affection but alas no examples survive. Originally, 32 were ordered. It is certain that 6 were used – for a while - between Marnia (Maghnia) and Taourirt pulling such prestigious services as the Great North Express. Not all of the other 26 examples ever came to Morocco; some may have served on the Western Front. They were known as ‘improved articulated Mallet type’ - two sets of cylinders, the exhaust steam of the first cylinders feeding the second. Because they were articulated, they could cope with lightly engineered track. Because there were six sets of driving axles, track distortion was reduced and they could put a lot (relatively speaking) of power on the track. If anyone finds a Marocaine secreted in a forgotten engine shed, those in the know will rejoice. Ironically, soon after the First World War began, the French Army realised that the Motherland needed locomotives and rolling stock; exports were paused for a time. In another twist, ‘Fort Lyautey’ became Port Lyautey using vessels which could navigate Wadi/River Sebou to the settlement. The photo, courtesy of Raymond Duton, shows the Station Restaurant at Kenitra/Port Lyautey and, yes, that is a Decauville 6000 waiting for the passengers to finish their lunches!.

The railway was here to stay. With the First World War, the treaty banning railways was considered no longer valid. Any pretence at a military railway was dropped; anyway, they reasoned, the locals would like the new trains. On 27th March 1916, Colonel Bursaux, director of Moroccan railways, was given permission to proceed by General Lyautey himself. Ad hoc cuttings and embankments were to be replaced with bridges and viaducts. Stations were to be upgraded. The permanent was wide enough to take standard or metre gauge. Here is a picture of Lyautey when he was Minister of War in the French wartime Cabinet, a post which abruptly ended early in 1917. He insisted that no matter how senior the civilian politicians, they could not be trusted with military secrets. (Photo author's collection)

With one eye on military narrow gauge and one on commercial gauges, Lyautey authorised lines stretching east towards Maghnia in Algeria and south into the Sahara. When the Armistice was signed on 11th November 1918, engineering supplies could move in freely. By 1920, the phrase ‘Protectorate of Morocco’ was in use. The network, until then administered by the Army, was transferred, sort of, to the civilians. The Protectorate was responsible for finances. Engineers from the Paris-Lyon-Marseille PLM, a French Grande Ligne provided the technical administration. As for the Moroccans – they provided financial support – but of course they benefitted from improved transport. The end As new links were started, prefabricated 60cm track was lifted, replaced with standard gauge, and re-laid in progressively more remote areas.The photo below shows a Decauville 1st/2nd class 'mixed' 60cm gauge carriage which was used at first on the lines between important towns and then on secondary routes as narrow gauge was replaced and relaid elsewhere. Courtesy Jim Hawkesworth.

There was also metre gauge, especially adjoining he border with Algeria. The process began in 1923 and by 1937, the last significant 60cm gauge branch had been lifted. At its apogee the 60cm network extended to 1300km, over 800 miles. On the whole, transport was good for the Moroccans though if it had been designed primarily for civilian purposes, it would have been better. General, then Marshal, Lyautey, is not remembered with affection. He tried to do a ‘Franco’ and take his troops into metropolitan France to quell an overly socialist government. Marshal Pétain managed to dissuade him. Port Lyautey is now called Knitra. Books Colonel Péchot: Tracks to the Trenches, Sarah Wright Birse Press 2014 Les Chemins de Fer de la France D’outre Mer Vol 2, Bejui, Raynaud, Vergez-Larrouy 1992 La Régordane especially Chapter 4 Le Maroc Decauville: Ce nom qui fit le tour du monde, Roger Bailly 1989 Eds Amatteis especially Chapter 6

Painting and building thirty five years on

We all end up with shelves of unbuilt kits, and, particularly for me as a builder of locomotives, unpainted prototypes. Unbuilt kits in my case are far too numerous and I recently decided to build the ones that I wished I had, get rid of the ones that had been superseded by better products and paint the prototype locomotives. In the photograph below, you see the most recent results from my resolution. Firstly, the kits: A very good friend called Jim Hawkesworth gave me three Kidner kits for three-ton Festiniog Railway slate wagons. These were of steel construction and built by Brown Marshalls in 1869. More were built at Boston Lodge. Although they survived in use until mid 20th century, they were a little large and many of the connected quarries found them difficult to deal with. More modern slate-wagons were smaller. The prototype had a tare of 19cwt and could carry a three ton load of cut slate.

The kit is very interesting. According to the instructions and the beautiful drawing, the kit dates from 1980. For the time, and even today, it is exceptional. It is mixed media, components being etches, white metal, wood and glass-filled nylon injection moulded wheelsets. Unusually for the time, the model is accurate and has exceptional detail in that every bolt or rivet used in its construction, both visibly and invisibly, are represented. Making it is a prickly exercise since most of the etches - where bolts or rivets are involved - are achieved using approximately two hundred 0.5mm lacepins. The etches are so well designed that every hole is counter-sunk on the head side of the rivet so that it does not stand too proud. Where hex-headed bolts of the time were used, they are represented with minute etched heads. The effort of doing all this soldering is not wasted because the fit of the parts is exquisite. The photo is of the first one I have completed. The other two kits await the healing of my numerous puncture wounds. The wagon awaits numbering, weathering but does nicely show its large size relative to a Hunslet Quarry Loco.

The locomotive is about thirty eight years old. It was the first iteration of a scale Alice class Hunslet model which was superseded by a more commercial product that had slip-eccentric valve-gear rather than Stephenson's valve-gear and, most significantly, doubling of the gas capacity. The photos below show two views of the model. Inspiration to build it came from a day trip to Wales with another good friend named Dave Provan. We visited the Bala Lake Railway where we spent the day in their workshop photographing and measuring their partially rebuilt Hunlet locommotive. To make the model, a lot of time was spent thinking it through, literally pondering how to get a quart into a pint pot, and how to keep the open cab clear of non-scale bits of pipe etc. The first improvement I made to the model prototype was about twenty years ago when I replaced a rectangular transverse gas tank with one over twice the size, fitted longitudinally below the cab floor. I built five with full Stephenson's valve gear, all cut out on an engraving machine in steel. I even case-hardened the links and die-block. Certainly this technique could not be extended to all my Hunslets in terms of profitability. The current commercial model looks identical. It has the same laser-cut frames and rods, the same etched platework and , most significantly, all the same lost-wax castings. However, between the frames, it is all much simpler; slip eccentric valvegear, a redesigned cylinder valve block at the front end, so no fiddling about for hours setting up the Stephenson's valve timing.

Recently, I took the locomotive off the shelf for a run, It ran beautifully for five mninutes and stopped. One of the four eccentrics had obviously slipped on the axle. I immediately started the long job of taking it to pieces, a long job because I had forgotten just how many finessed one-off ideas held it together. So it rested on its oily oven-tray for nearly a year and then in June, I took the plunge, took the front end to bits, verified one of the valves had shifted, re-adjusted the sheave and pinned it along with the others, put it together, this time using Loctite 574 rather than paper gaskets. Much to my satisfaction, it ran like the proverbial Swiss watch on the airline and crept along equally reliably. And so, into the paint-shop. Firstly, it had to be ultrasonically cleaned, then brushed over with acid, rinsed, dried, masked with tape where necessary, sprayed with Upol etch primer then red or grey Halford's primers and spray-painted using Halford's paints straight from the can. A great deal of time was taken masking, leaving only the yet to be painted hand-rails, fire-iron holders and some beadings, all with Humbrol gloss black. Should I line it? It should have a single reasonably wide orange line on top of the Oporto red body colour. It needs plates and I think fairly heavy weathering plus the addition of some recent lost-wax castings - two water gauges and a firehole door.

Headgear in the First World War

As a modeller of First World War scenes, you may have wondered whether French soldiers sported the képi (cylindrical peaked) hat or casque (the characteristic French helmet). The brief answer is that in 1914, the majority of infantry sported the képi. This was an improvement on the massive shako and the bicorne hat - massive headgear which made it impossoble to move without being seen. There were exceptions; mounted troops wore helmets as protection if they fell off their horses. See below.

Our thanks are due to Raymond Péchot, Péchot's grandson for allowing us to reproduce this photograph. All rights reserved. The képi is much in evidence in this picture of a naval gun taken in 1886. The officers and other ranks standing around the 240mm gun belong to the Gunners/Artillerie. They are wearing this form of peaked cap so typical of the French military. Other personnel come from the Marine Service. Prosper Péchot, see below, can be seen, mounted, at the centre of the picture. He is wearing the Artillerie version of the képi. The story behind the picture is interesting. The Marines in the picture are moving a large naval gun as part of an exercise performed every year in the 1880s. As the reach of the French Navy increased, so they wanted to be sure that they could land a force de frappe bristling with guns on any beach in the world. As guns got larger, however, they realised that muscle power alone was not enough to drag a naval gun up the hill at Fontainebleau. In 1885, they turned to Péchot to solve the problem which he duly did, with his system of portable railway. Equipment was all ready for the annual exercise in July 1886. The chocks in front of the nearer bogie hint at just how steep the gradient was. You will be relieved to know that the detachment reached their objective in good time for lunch! This would have been impossible without the Péchot system. The képi survived to the time of the First World War. An advertisement appearing in the magazine ‘Illustration’ - author's collection - in June 1916 shows officers of the French and British Army are shown mostly in peaked caps, though there are two ceremonial helmets to be seen.

Other illustrations from the same magazine show how the képi was a notice-board for regiment and rank. The barrel of the hat displays a useful code of identification. They had all earned citations (cit). Here is a lieutenant of the 4th Colonial Infantry,

a lieutenant of the 13th Infantry (headgear worn rather cheekily in the photo,

a lieutenant if the 9th Engineers

and a Captain in the 66th Infantry.

All illustrations are from the author's collection. Once the First World War started, even Top Brass began to notice various new aspects of the fighting. Losses among the infantry were horrendous. While waiting for the breakthrough (which never happened on the Western Front)the mounted regiments were also put into the trenches. It was noticed that though they suffered losses, these were not as tragic. In a Report of 17th February 1915, High Command noted: The overwhelming majority of our casualties sustained head wounds. In the majority of cases, they would have been protected by a metal helmet. This headgear would have, in the first case, protected them against shell-bursts and flying shrapnel which do not have great penetrating power. They would also have stopped the dangers of ricochet from spent bullets. Statistics bear out these observations. Our cavalry suffered far less than the Infantry. (Note: when fighting in the trenches, the cavalry kept their traditional helmets. The Infantry also tried by various shifts to protect their heads. Some attached their mess –tins to the top of their hats. A patriotic industrialist devised a calotte, a metal skull-cap to be worn under the képi. The design was trialled at the defence laboratory at Bourges. Unfortunately, a one-size-fits-all skullcap did not fit everyone but where they could be worn, they were effective against 60% of shrapnel and spent bullets. 700,000 of these calottes were distributed and research on a better design went ahead.

The result of this research was the casque or helmet, an improved version of the one already worn by mounted regiments. The design originated from the Crimean War, the so-called pot-hat of the sappers of Sebastopol, which was in turn taken from the head protection worn by light cavalry. The colour chosen was gun-metal grey, reminiscent of military equipment, especially the 75mm gun. A grade of steel which provided protection from flying bullets was chosen. It and the integrated visor/rim was punched from a single piece of metal. The crest of the cavalry helmet was reduced to a discreet ridge. This gave the helmet extra rigidity but also featured perforations for the better circulation of air. For comfort it was lined with an inner helmet of leather, a suede leather chin-strap held it in place. It was carefully designed not to interfere with movement, even under fire, the whole weighing well under 700 grams.

A single design of casque was worn by the humblest to the most senior when in the field. Members of the various branches of the army carried a different device on the helmet. The infantry – as in the illustration - were distinguished by a stylised grenade, the Chasseurs, a hunting horn, Colonial troops an anchor, the Sappers a stylised breast-plate and helmet and the Artillery the crossed cannon device. Personally, I find the insignia both familiar and a little disturbing. In the British Army, the Sappers wear the grenade insignia. I also find the crossed cannons of the Artillery just a little reminiscent of the Confederate insignia and the fasces. But that is personal. My personal picture of Prosper Péchot’s benevolent face never includes that particular casque; indeed, he would never have worn it. Tradition was not dead. The képi, affectionately rather than respectfully known as the pioupiou, continued to be worn. It appeared straight and solemn on parade but when marching or off-duty, quite possibly at a jaunty angle as modelled by the cheeky young Lieutenant Blanc.

As a quick postscript, the système Péchot featured in the photograph above became very familiar to the casque-bearers of the Great War. From light, prefabricated track supporting a few specialist bogie-wagons, it evolved into THOUSANDS of kilometres of permanent way carrying munitions, engineering stores, food, water and forage for animals forward to the Front and spent ammunition to be recycled and the wounded back to base. Thanks are due to the Péchot family for allowing me to reproduce pictures from their family archive. Other illustrations are from the author's collection. Copyright Further Reading: WJK Davies - Light Railways In the First World War (out of print); Dr Christian Cénac - 60 centimetres pour ravitailler les Armées francaises pendant la premiere guerr mondiale (out of print) Sarah Wright - Colonel Péchot: Tracks To The Trenches Birse Press 2014