Franco Prussina and Great War

Pechot and Kitchener Prosper Péchot (1849 to 1928) was very different to Horatio Herbert Kitchener (1850 to 1916). For a start, one was French, one British, one a mere Colonel, the other a Field Marshal, one a Sapper, the other in the French Artillerie, but the two both influenced the course of the First World War. Their early lives crossed. In 1870, Kitchener was in western France, staying with French relatives when France declared war on Prussia on 18th July. Prosper Péchot was finishing the first year of a course at the celebrated Ecole Polytechnique in Paris as Army officer-in-training.

This sketch, author’s collection, shows a contemporary French fantassin. He carries the chassepot rifle, his kepi is blue and red, his coat blue, trousers red and the outfit is completed with white spats. On 19th September, when Paris was besieged by the enemy, Péchot was on sick-leave. His fellow students enlisted as a man to defend the capital, but he was convalescing back at home in Brittany. The advancing Prussians had captured or contained in one way or another most of the regular French army; the Second Empire of Napoleon III was replaced by a French Republic. Some might have sued for peace, but Paris and western France did not give in.

This sketch, author’s collection, shows a member of the Prussian infantry. He is wearing the distinctive cap in dark blue with its small white emblem, dark blue tunic and black trousers tucked into the famous German Army boots. The equally famous greatcoat is slung across one shoulder. His right hand holds a Dreyse rifle with fixed bayonet. The Prussian Army numbered around half a million. It is true that half this number were employed in starving out Paris, guarding prisoners of war etc but that left quite a number to mop up the resistance. There were about 95000 French regulars at liberty. Amazingly, over the next four months, they were boosted by half a million volunteers. Both our heroes were stirred by this activity. Kitchener joined a Field Ambulance Brigade but found time to take a trip in a balloon to see the ‘Army of the Loire’ in action against the Prussian foe. It was cold, of course, as it was winter and colder still up in the balloon. He caught pneumonia and was whisked back to England. He was commissioned into the Royal Engineers on 4th January 1871. Once Péchot had recovered, he too reported for duty and was assigned a transport detail in the Rennes area. The trouble was that the Armi(es) of the Loire formed and reformed. Numerous but inexperienced and totally untrained, they were no match for the German regular army. When defeated, they melted away and blended in with their French fellows. It meant that Péchot and his team never knew where to dispatch supplies. In the end, as he recalled, they were just trying to keep supplies and themselves out of the hands of the enemy. On 28th January 1871, the young Republic capitulated. Among all military goods, Péchot’s arms and ammunition were now ceded to Germany. Their services to France had its effects on future careers. Kitchener was reprimanded for embarrassing the British Army. He had violated its strict rule of neutrality towards the War. He was shipped off to the colonies, dabbled in imperial adventures and learned fluent Arabic. In the end, it did his career no harm. Young Péchot was haunted for life by the French defeat. He was also frustrated by how little he could achieve as a serving officer, given the state of French railways at the time. He vowed to improve matters. He realised that without efficient logistics (my modern term) an army could not fight a modern war. He invented, with help from Paul Decauville – also seared by his experience in 1870-1) – the Péchot system of portable 60cm gauge railways.

The fruit of Péchot’s labours was the sprung bogie and bogie wagon. This drawing appears courtesy of Dr Christian Cénac. The wagon could run reliably on hastily laid prefabricated narrow gauge track yet it could carry ten tonnes of supplies - across fields or unpaved roads. It was the best transport available before tracked vehicles were introduced. He worked tirelessly to promote it. In the time leading up to World War 1, Kitchener’s career blossomed. When he was young, he was a rapid adopter of technology, weapons and railways. He used his surveying skills and the newly introduced machine gun to terrifying effect at the Battle of Omdurman. He was heard to remark ‘We have given them a damn good dusting!’ It was a pity about all the deaths, but the Mahdist regime was not entirely pretty. Kitchener was able to free thousands of enslaved people. Kitchener made General before 1900. Péchot’s career stagnated. In the view of his superiors, he was an obstinate Breton, obsessed with an expensive military toy. In a particularly mean move, they only made him Colonel in 1902, where he stayed until definitive retirement in 1911. His postings were always well away from Paris or Toul, the two places from which he did so much for his System. He had to make train journeys with, say, a 60cm gauge turn-table in his passenger luggage or personally push a bogie a couple of kilometres down the track. While these could be considered amusing anecdotes, it shows how far he allowed his superiors to push him in order to advance his cause. Kitchener was implicated in the scandalous concentration camps of the Boer War but achieved a relationship with Louis Botha and other Boer leaders. This was to stand Britain in good stead during World War 1. He was created Viscount Kitchener in 1902.

THis photo, author's collection, shows Horatio Herbert, Lord Kitchener of Khartoum, in Field Marshal's uniform. René Puaux, writing in 1916, described him as a shining warrior who was a misogynist and lived only for the exercise of authority and his collection of porcelain. I wonder what Puaux really meant. Péchot had a few career boosts. From 1882, when he had a fully designed and costed scheme, to 1888, he struggled to have his System recognised. In 1885, the French Navy, of all institutions, backed him to produce a ‘strike force’ which would enable marines to land on a beach, install a short railway and efficiently unload guns and material. In the 1890s, the Colonial Service made use of his ideas. In 1888, serious trials took place, to see if portable railways could solve the problems of the Army. For once, Péchot’s ideas were given a fair trial. The background was this: France put a lot of faith in a curtain of modern fortresses which were to halt the enemy at the frontier. The advent of high explosive threatened these. A screen of earth sheltered defences were introduced to prevent the enemy from getting within range. The photograph taken by MD Wright shows the entrance to Fort Girancourt, one of the 16 forts built to defend Fortress Epinal. These fort were in turn screened by 34 redoutes and 60 gun batteries.

An adaptable railway system would be most useful in helping to build and supply such subsidiary fortifications. The Génie (Engineers) favoured metre gauge railways, the Navy and Artillierie 60cm. And in the end, who actually supported Péchot’s system? Charles de Freycinet (1828-1923) was also involved with the Armies of the Loire. Léon Gambetta is the person remembered for escaping from Paris and raising new volunteers from the west of France. De Freycinet, though an engineer rather than professional soldier, was his enabler. It is not clear if he met Prosper Péchot, but he saw the problems that the young man was trying to solve. De Freycinet had as successful a political career as anyone during the Third Republic; in 1888, he was one of the few civilians to hold office as Minister of War (equivalent to the British Ministry of Defence). Although he was not involved in professional in-fighting, his military service in 1870-1 counted in his favour. He headed up the Committee assessing the trials comparing metre gauge with 60 cm. If he backed either scheme, he would offend someone. He came down in favour of the 60cm System but tactfully gave it the official name of Artillerie 1888. Ironically, the Germans adopted this system more enthusiastically than did the French. It is a proven fact that Germans were observing the French trials and within a few months, they abandoned their existing military designs and adopted, pretty broadly the French one. 60cm gauge locomotive-hauled bogie-wagons made trench supply possible for both sides during the First World War – guns, ammunition, engineering supplies, food, drink and the evacuation of soldiers and spent shell cases. Prosper Péchot was asked to come back to serve his country and provided technical leadership as France scrambled to update its military logistics. This picture, courtesy of the Péchot family, shows Propser Péchot in 1909, having received his Légion d'Honneur.

(Horatio) Herbert Kitchener is famous for providing the iconic recruiting poster from August 1914 onwards. He provided a powerful figurehead for attracting half a million volunteers to the armed forces but his ideas about technology had become somewhat outdated. He was infamous for discouraging the British from using field railways. Very soon after his death, War Department Light Railways came into being – but that is another story. You might like to look at: Dr Christian Cénac Soixante Centimetre pour ravitailler l'Armée francaise pendant la guerre de 14-18 (French language) This is a treasure trove of drawings of French 60cm gauge rail and rolling stock René Puaux wrote in l'Illustration magazine, number dated 10th June 1916 Sarah Wright Colonel Péchot: Tracks To The Trenches This is the story of Prosper Péchot and his wonderful narrow-gauge railway system

Colonel Pechot and the Billy Goats Gruff

Firstly, an apology; in my previous blog, I referred to Hunger: How Food Shaped The Course Of The First World War. It is by Rick Blom and I read te translation by Suzanne Jansen. It is worth a read if you are interested in food. My sub-title should be ‘Clément Ader and narrow gauge railways’but I will explain why goats come into the story. In Colonel Péchot: Tracks to the Trenches, I devoted a whole chapter and more to what Péchot’s son, Henri Péchot, called the Battle of the Gauges (bataille des largeurs de voie). Henri Péchot wasn’t referring to the battle between the Great Western Railway and other British Railway companies, fascinating though that story might be, but to a battle between The Génie and the Artillerie.

This photo, courtesy of the family of Raymond Péchot, shows 15 tonnes of gun being moved on portable railway track. The trial took place in 1886 to test the Péchot system. The cause of the cintroversy was choosing a standard for French military field transport and the 'battle' took place in the period 1882 to 1888. The Génie, the equivalent of our Sappers, recommended waiting until a war began and then requisitioning civilian metre gauge railways, and repositioning them as needed. The Artillerie, in which Prosper Péchot was an officer, slightly less vociferously championed his portable system.

This drawing, courtesy of Jim Hawkesworth, shows a length of Péchot system portable track. Péchot had devised a new tailor-made system of field transport in 60cm gauge. The politicians preferred the requisitioning plan which required no immediate cost. The Péchot system involved upfront expenditure and so the plan was all but stifled. If you want to know whether the Artillerie or the Génie won the battle, buy the book! Revenons a nos moutons or rather nos chevres; you want to know where goats fit into the story. Prosper Péchot wasn’t the only patriot looking for a way to defend France. From 1871 until 1914, the nation smarted under its defeat, nay total humiliation, in the Franco-Prussian War. Every man, woman and child was keen to win next time … A number of schemes were put before the French Government to give their armed forces the edge in some future conflict. Péchot’s was one. Another was from Clément Ader. Clément Ader (1841 - 1926) was a celebrated inventor, known as the Father of Flight, Godfather of the Bicycle and inventor of the telephone. But I have not taken up my quill to defend his claims against the Wright brothers, Alexander Graham Bell and the like. Ader put forward an audacious plan for a railway which could propel itself across open ground. He put it forward as a means to ‘transport the Army cross-country.’ In short, Ader had also grasped the problem that had bedevilled both armies during the Franco-Prussian War, that of mobility in the battlefield. Ader’s first rail-related invention had been a chariot releveur des rails. Alright, I’ll get to the goats eventually.

This picture, author’s collection, shows his design for a 'detachable' railway for lifting and re-laying specially designed track. In 1866, he patented this machine for re-ballasting the permanent way. The plan was to automate a hard and potentially dangerous job. A device unclipped, then lifted the rail and then passed it to the other end of the train where it was relaid and the sleepers refastened. While th erail was off the ground, the track could be re-ballasted. Ader took his idea from a similar system used in coal-mines. It worked! These and other inventions caught the popular imagination. His electronic transmission of music from the Paris Opera, first unveiled in 1881, attracted four hundred subscribers. His aeroplane, Eole – God of the Winds – took off in 1890 and skimmed the ground for 50 metres. We are coming to the goats and the chemin de fer a rail sans fin, the endless-belt railway.

This picture, author’s collection shows the goats. Always aware of the importance of publicity, Ader invited the Press to come to Buttes Chaumont, a park in the 19th arrondissement of Paris, on 12th July 1877. There he showed off his newly invented all-terrain tramway. I surrender ma plume to a contemporary journalist: “Three small carriages were pulled by two goats. (The carriages) rolled on a curious endless railway whose parts were articulated so that, after the last carriage had passed, they could be lifted and pulled to the front of the train where they were laid down in front of the front wheels of the leading carriage. What really impressed the spectators was that two goats provided quite enough pulling-power; without any sign of strain, they pulled not only three carriages but also twenty passengers.” The demo rig was taken into the Jardin de Tuileries park in central Paris where it operated for the rest of the summer, carrying successive parties of children while proud mamans et gouvernantes looked on. Then the rig was dismantled.

The picture, author's collection, shows, in sketch form, the endless belt device. The track runs along under the carriages and then is taken up and runs from the back towards the front wheels, goes round them and is pulled back to the ground. Charming though this picture was, Ader had a serious aim. He had hoped that this model would be scaled up. Instead of an upmarket goat-cart, a steam engine would pull military grade freight. Equipped with these new caterpillar-tracked trains, the French army could be supplied along country lanes or even across meadows. But it was not to be. The Services Techniques of the French Army who were later to give Péchot such a hard time turned down this delicious invention. Writing for Illustration magazine in 1941, Jacques Faure commented that in the end, Ader’s invention of the auto-chenille – robot caterpillar – resulted in the ‘king of the battle-field’ – the tank, ultimate tracked vehicle. I’m not sure about that. Various men have claimed to have fathered the tank. Patents, whether registered or not, had appeared since 1837. The best attested appearance of an actual tracked vehicle had been one made by the Fowler Company which appeared at a steam-ploughing competition in 1861, well before Ader’s and indeed the Franco-Prussian War. Moreover, the tank in itself wasn’t king of the battlefield. The Allies introduced the tank during the battle of the Somme, two years before the end of the war. By 1918, the Germans had time to field a few tanks of their own. Péchot’s invention on the other hand, also adopted on both sides, directly enabled trench supply from 1914 to 18.

This illustration by Francois Flameng, author’s collection, shows a tank of 1918. The enemy it is about to crush look suitably terrified. But this much is true. Ader’s idea was one of the great might-have-beens. Mechanical descendants of the goats in the Tuileries Garden could have hauled guns to bridges over the Rhine: Goat: Trip trap, trip trap. The troll living under the bridge): Who’s that going over MY bridge? I’ll eat you up! To which the reply: It’s ME, Big Billy Goat Gruff and I’m going to knock you into the water! I’m not joking. When the 14-18 war began, the French marched towards the Rhine to retake their ‘lost provinces'. Their attempt to cross met with stern resistance. Meantime, the Germans were crossing into northern France by way of Belgium. You may like the following Rick Blom Hunger Unicorn Publishing London 2019 Translation from a Dutch original Jacques Pradayrol Voie Etroite French language magazine of the Association Picard pour la Preservation et Entretien des Vehicules Anciennes is always interesting, especially numbers 75, 76 and 77 (April May 1983, June July 1983 and August September 1983) In Number 77 page 11, Jacques Pradayrol quotes Henri Péchot. Illustration Magazine 13/03/41 page 268 article by Jacques Faure La Liberté French newspaper established 1865, last edition appeared 1940 Sarah Wright, Colonel Pechot: Tracks to The Trenches Birse Press 2014

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