Major Cecil Morley, 2nd Battalion, Manchester Regiment, who was severely wounded and taken prisoner of war at Le Cateau on 26 August 1914 and who wrote a lengthy narrative of his capture up until the time of his transfer to Switzerland in 1916
The following is extracted from a lengthy typewritten ‘confidential’ narrative written by the Cecil Morley which survives at the National Archives.
‘I was captured at Le Cateau on the 26th August 1916. We were originally placed in support in rear of the Suffolk Regt., and having a brigade of artillery in between. I went up to reinforce the Suffolk Regt., and was wounded while trying to regain their trenches, from which they had been driven out. I was shot in the left upper arm and shoulder, also through the left lung and stomach. As soon as I fell, Pte. Jones, “B” Company, 2/Manchester Regt., ran up to me, and under a very heavy fire bandaged my wounds with a first field dressing. He was wounded while attending to me. Owing to the very heavy fire of artillery, machine guns, and rifles the stretcher-bearers were unable to reach me. Pte. Jones, however, rolled me into a small sunken road, where I was under cover. Soon after I heard bugles and drums, and thought it was the French coming up, as I heard shouts of “Camarades,” but found Germans all round me. They continued firing all round me, but presently ceased firing. One of the German soldiers came up to me and took my field-glasses. Another one came to look at me and washed my mouth out with water, as I was bleeding through my mouth. I then became unconscious.
The next thing I noticed was a group of British prisoners standing near me. Before they were marched away some of them asked the Germans to have me carried with them to be looked after. The Germans refused. Two men of my regiment came and lifted me up and carried me to Le Cateau. There I was placed in the courtyard of a large house belonging to a Monsieur Seydon, and which was being turned into a hospital. A German under-officer came up and bandaged me afresh, as my wounds were bleeding badly, with a first field dressing which he took off a British soldier. I was then carried into the drawing-room and placed on a sofa. A German doctor examined me. He then sent to ask one of the unwounded British officers who were in the house to come and see me, as he told him I should die. Lieut. Teeling, K.O.S.B., came to see me, also Major E. Jones, R.F.A. I was then placed on a mattress, and became unconscious. I remained in a corner of the room for several days with the unwounded British officers, who slept on straw on the floor. Several of these worked very hard among the wounded, washing and feeding them and attending to their wounds. The chief ones I noticed were Major E. Jones, R.F.A., Major Peebles, and Captain Hepworth, both Suffolk Regt. Captain Cahill, R.A.M.C., was in charge of the wounded, but was unable to get bandages or anything needful from the Germans.
The British officers who were unwounded, or slightly wounded, were moved away on the 31st August. The German doctor then came in and ordered me to be moved to another house close by belonging to Madame Seydou. This was the first time he had been to see me since I was bought in. I was placed on a mattress in a room with 2 other British officers. Captain H.B. Kelly, R.A.M.C., then arrived. He came in and dressed our wounds regularly, and although worn out himself, worked unceasingly and untiringly among the wounded. It was certainly due to his untiring efforts that many lives were saved. He was unfortunately sent away after a short time, in spite of his asking the Germans to be allowed to stay and look after the wounded. I also asked for my servant to be left with us, as he had managed to find me. He slept in our room, and although wounded by a shrapnel splinter in the shoulder, looked after the other 2 officers and myself. The Germans refused to let him stay, and sent him off with a convoy of prisoners. A German medical under-officer then came to take charge of us. He started by insulting us, and said our men were pigs. He then called in a sentry, who threatened to bayonet us. As, however, we took no notice of them, they went out again, and we saw no more of the under-officer for several days.
After the departure of my servant, who had managed to keep the other two officers supplied with food (I was unable to eat anything for some days), we were sometimes left for 24 hours without any food, until some French women, who had put red crosses on their arms, came in and found us. They smuggled food hidden under their skirts, to us. If they brought it openly the sentries took it from them. After a few days of this we were all carried back to Monsieur Seydou’s house, where we were better treated, and visited by a doctor. There were seven of us in a room with a nurse to look after us. The nurse was quite kind to us…
In September 1914 I was sent to Cologne.We were taken to Cambrai Station in a motor ambulance, and Major Doughty and I were put in a second-class carriage. We left Cambrai about 6 p.m. We were given no food that night, but about midnight a soldier of our guard brought us a bowl of thick soup, which was his ration.We were given nothing at all the next day and night, and ate some chocolate Major Doughty had bought with him. Early the following morning some Red Cross women entered the train with cocoa and rusks. I asked them for some, but they refused to give me any, and were very insulting to us. They fed our guards, and on our guards insisting that they should give us some food, as we were wounded, they very reluctantly gave us some.
On our arrival at Cologne we were taken to the Maschinenbauschule, which had been turned into a hospital, and placed in a room containing six officers.The food here was practically uneatable, a thick slice of black bread and a mug of coffee without milk or sugar for breakfast. A basin of potatoes with bacon or meat (a very small piece of meat, which was generally rotten) for lunch. A slice of black bread and and coffee for tea. A basin of soup for supper. We were able to supplement our rations by sausages or ham sold in the canteen in the basement of the hospital. This canteen was run by the cook, who naturally took care to give us food which we could not eat, in order to make us buy things at his canteen…Civilians were allowed to come and stare at us. In fact, it appeared to be quite the Sunday afternoon amusement…
On 10th October 1914 I left Cologne for Torgau. The officer in charge of our escort seeing that I was suffering a good deal, did all he could for me. We left Cologne at 8a.m. and arrived at Torgau at 4a.m. the following morning. We were met at the station by a very officious German officer and an escort of about 20 men. This officer ordered his men to fix bayonets. The officer who had escorted us to Torgau protested, saying we were officers, and most of us wounded and still suffering from the effects of our wounds. This led to a furious row between the two officers, and incidentally a large crowd of civilians quickly gathered round us and began to abuse us, and backed up the new officer, who eventually carried his point.
We had to walk through streets and roads thick with mud for about three-quarters of an hour to the fort, which we reached, most of us in an exhausted condition; this can be easily understood as I fancy most of the other 12 officers, like myself, had been in bed till the previous day; we also had to carry what kit we possessed. This, in my case, consisted only of a few articles tied up in a handkerchief.
On arrival at the fort we were handed over to the under officer of the guard, who showed us to a wooden shed which was not finished, containing some beds. We were each given a wet blanket which had been lying on the floor of the shed, and told we could go to sleep. This, tired as we were, was impossible for most of us owing to the intense cold accentuated by the wet blanket…
When I arrived at Torgau I was surprised at the good moral and optimism of most of the officers… The first break in their moral was when a copy of General French’s despatches was somehow bought into the camp, containing the “mentions” for Mons and Le Cateau. At one of which places most of the officers had been captured. There was great bitterness about when it was discovered that practically all those mentioned were officers who had escaped the misfortune of being made prisoner. At this time officers were also buoyed up by the hope of exchanges, which they considered practically certain…
All the other British officers were sent away from Torgau to Burg near Magdeburg. They left in two parties, one on the 25th, the other on the 26th November 1914. On our arrival at Burg we were marched through the streets with sentries with fixed bayonets on either side of us. We carried our own kit, and one of the senior British officers who was helping to carry a box full of library books was kicked by one of the sentries to hurry him along. Our camp here consisted of waggon sheds and stables…
The commandant of the camp was a reserve officer who tried to bully and humiliate the officers in every possible way… Officers of different nationalities were mixed up together in the rooms, and an order issued by the commandant that no two officers of the same nationality were allowed to sleep next to each other. For instance, English, Belgian, Russian, French; and different coloured tickets were tied on all the beds according to the nationality of the occupant.
This commandant insisted upon all officers saluting him every time they passed him, and he used to walk up and down the courtyard and stop any officer who did not salute him correctly. In the end his appearance in the yard was the signal for all officers to retire to their rooms until he left. The officers (German) at this camp were very bad mannered, and used to shout at the prisoners to try and overawe them. Thirteen officers were taken from this camp as reprisals for the imprisonment of German submarine officers. As they marched off they were cheered by the remaining officers, and as a punishment for this the commandant ordered our beer and wine to be stopped. We were allowed to buy two bottles of beer a day and a bottle of wine a week.
On the 20th May 1915, we left Burg for Mainz…We were packed into third-class carriages…We were so tightly packed in the carriages that some of the officers slept in the luggage-racks and on the floor. On our arrival in Mainz we were taken to the citadel and told off to rooms, being again mixed up with other nationalities, but this time no restriction as to sleeping next to foreigners. The accommodation was better, as we were put into ordinary barrack rooms…
On Christmas Eve, 1915, a British and French officer escaped. This so infuriated our gaolers that they stopped our wine on Christmas Day and for a good many days, and we were locked up in our rooms at 4.30 p.m… The daily routine was roll-call at 9 a.m. except Sundays, when it was 8.45 a.m. dinner at 12 or 12.30, tea (consisting of acorn coffee and the remains of the bread issued at the previous day’s dinner) 3 p.m., supper 6.30 or 7 p.m., lock-up varying from 8 to 9.30, according to the time of the year.
Our letters home (we were allowed 2 letters and 4 post-cards a month, letters not to exceed 6 pages, and post-cards 15 lines), were always kept a regulation period of 10 days before being despatched. They were frequently kept 20 or 30 days, as on several occasions my wife, after not hearing from me for about 6 weeks, would receive a letter and 2 post-cards on the same day. Parcels were given out regularly and honestly, but some of them were pilfered on the way, either in England or Germany…
It was very difficult to get any special medical or dental attention. I myself got both eventually after a great struggle and a good deal of delay… When I left on 26th May 1916, the morale of the officers had considerably changed since the beginning of their imprisonment. This is little to be wondered at when one considers that the majority of them had been shut up within four walls and practically cut off from the outside world for nearly two years, that they had most of them been more or less severely wounded, and had received no proper treatment or attention to enable them to properly recover from the effects of these wounds, and the humiliations, hardships and privations they had endured. Also, and I think this had the greatest effect of all, they heard of other men getting distinctions and promotion, while they recognised at last that there was no further hope for them, as there now appears no prospect of an exchange of prisoners being arranged.
There are many capable officers, regular officers of the old army, who should be valuable to their country, who kept themselves for a long time buoyed up with this hope of an exchange, who are now deteriorating mentally and physically from their long imprisonment, and, if they are to be of any further use, some great effort should be made to have them exchanged, and so release them from their long and unjust sufferings. I have heard many of them say that unless they can take some further part in the war, their one idea will be, when they return home, to retire from the service as failures; not from want of ability but from the mischance of war, having most of them been captured during the retreat before they had a chance of proving themselves.’
Timberman
