Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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Frank Maguire Where we are going we do not know, nor will we be allowed to inform you, as our letters will be censored, and one rule is that no places must be mentioned. You all speak of a icture in the “Star” which you say looks like me. It may be; as I have not seen the picture, cannot say. We are often photographed when at work. March 7th, 1915. One shell got 8 of my section, the other day; | say my section, as | am now a section commander. We are not far from the Gurkhas now, but I think we are doing much better than they. What with the cold and the special food their religion calls for, these poor fellows (Sikhs, Punjabis and Gurkhas) are always in trouble. Our own officers occasionally do a mad stunt. A few nights ago, one of them walked right up to the German trenches and fired three shots with his revolver into them and got away in spite of their machine gun. France, June 8th, 1915 Since Ypres, we have had another turn in the trenches and two rests. What the pepers say about the battle of Ypres is all wrong. Our battalion seems to get little credit, but I think there was only the 16th Canadian Scottish that had anything on us. Anyhow, the paper accounts are all wrong. Belgium, July 7th, 1915. , Next time I write I guess I'll have a commission instead of a number. This child will be right glad, too. Some three weeks back we had all the excitement necessary, in France. ; . ‘ However I, in particular, have no kick coming. I came to France full private; since then I have been lance-jack, corporal, sergeant and, I guess, lieutenant next week. Belgium, July 24th, 1915. Just a few lines in answer to yours of the 3rd inst., which reached me day before yesterday. hope you got my last note to tell you that I have got my commission, and am now fully decked out in an officer’s glad rags, with a batman or servant of my own, etc. It is quite an agreeable change, I assure you. Aug. 10th, 1915. We are in the trenches in Belgium just now, and it is quite a long time since we have had a rest, back from the line. Things are usually very quiet, with every now and then a heavy bombardment from one side or the other. Our trenches are very nice, and I have a fine dug-out. No worry about my clothes, water for washing, shaving, etc.; no meals to cook, no rifle to clean. Believe me, I am quite charmed with the life of an officer on active service. We have a small Victrola in with us this time, and some very good records. P.S.—The following lines were found by us in a trench taken over from the 16th Canadian Scottish. When a man is invalided home, he is said to have gone to Blighty. “Balloo” is the way the Tommies pronounce Bailleul, from where the train leaves. 10 THE TRIP TO BLIGHTY. I have travelled many journeys in my two-score years and ten, And oft enjoyed the company of jovial fellowmen, But of all the happy journeys, none can compare for me With the Red-Cross midnight fast express from the trenches to the sea. It’s “Balloo, Boulogne and Blighty”’ is the burden of my song, “Balloo, Boulogne and Blighty’’—Oh, speed the train along, Though you've only half a stomach and you may have lost a knee, You'll choke your groans as best you can and shout along with me: “Balloo, Boulogne and Blighty’’—dear old Blighty by the sea. Oh, it’s better than the trenches and it’s better than the rain, It’s better than the mud and stink—we’re going home again; We're going home to Blighty, just as happy as can be, Though most of us have lost some friends, the wrong side of the sea, For they gave their lives for Blighty, dear old Blighty by the sea. CANADIAN HIGHLANDER. I found this effusion in a letter I censored, and promptly plagiarised it: “STAND TO.” Regularly every morning, just as the stars begin to tire, Without the slightest warning one of our maxims opens fire; A German machine gun answers back, One or two rifles begin to crack, And all down the line you can hear the rattle, As they start their own little morning battle; As dawn coines creeping into the sky, A couple of shells go whizzing by, The bullets are flying in every direction Just as the larks are beginning to carol, And all because the machine-gun section Wanted to warm their hands on the barrel. Flanders, June 2nd, 1916. I am, as you will see, back in Flanders. My machine-gun company fell through, und i got so fed up with staying in England at a reserve battalion that I pulled the wires a bit and fixed things up so as to get back to France. I have been here for about ten days now. We are in, I might say, the hottest hole on the British line, but I have dodged them for so long that I am becoming an expert. Here I touch wood. There is only one officer here that I know, apart from the commanding officer. The latter has promised me my captaincy at once. I am at present in charge of my old company. Funny, is it not—I left England a full buck in the rear rank of this company and now | command it. Field Aug. 6th, 1916. At present we are having a rest after a ....!!! It is Sunday morning and I have just brought my cut-throats back from mass. It is a funny war. Mass took place in an old barn which has been turned into a picture palace. On the stage, Capt. Workman, M.C., was saying mass, while in the orchestra pit, another padre was hearing confessions, attired in boots and spurs and a Sam Brown belt, with a blue stole and a gas helmet slung round his neck and, believe me, he had some cut-throats for penitents. Yours was the first letter I got from Canada, addressed “Capt.”” I am much pleased with this step, as it looked for a time as if I should never get it. A captain in the Ypres salient and a captain in Canada ars two distinct species. Anyhow I am as pleased as Punch about it all. I enclose you a little souvenir which I gathered during the last scrap. It belonged to a Boche who, like little Clarence, is no more. Since returning to France, | have been twice recommended for a M.C., but evidently the higher authorities don’t like my name.

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REFECTORY BUILDING JUNIORS’ BUILDING MAJ.-ADJT. GEORGE P, VANIER, M.C : PHUR L. McGOVE. CAPTAIN FRANCIS MAGUIRE, LIEUTENANT JOSEPH POWER, Soe MEGA EUR Le BERN Old Loyola (1897-1909, B.A, ‘06. 28th Battalion, ia 2nd Battalion, 2ad Battalion, Sage ttajor. fe farsvertined Bee xe B.A. 1907, ©. L. 1897. ; , fecorated with the Ceo Legion et Killed in Action, June 6th, 1916. How Killed in Action, September 22nd, 1916,

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Field, Sept. 15th, 1916. ‘Things are going beautifully down here at the Somme and we are pushing the Boche back with great regularity, but you have no idea what a gigantic task it is. He has been fortifying his position here for a year and a half, and it is wonderful how difficult it is to dislodge him. I had no idea what dug-outs were till | saw some of the Germans’. Without exaggeration, you have, in most cases, to go down two long flights of stairs to get to the bottom, and one headquarters dug-out I saw contained beautiful furniture, including a piano and billiard table, electric light, wall paper, etc. So you can have some idea how difficult it is to dislodge him from trenches such as these, but we are doing it. The sad part is the loss of so many friends. [ lost my best friend last Friday, when the 2nd took 550 yards of trench and about 125 prisoners. The remainder died the death. FROM FATHER LOCHARY, CHAPLAIN. Ist Canadian Infantry Brigade, Sept. 24th, 1916. ie! time this letter reaches you, you will no doubt have received official notice of your son’s death. , I read the burial services at the grave this morning, and he had a lovely funeral. The band of the 2nd Battalion, accompanied by a large body of soldiers and officers, marched to the grave, where, after the service was read, the “Last Post’ was sounded. Last Saturday afternoon your son met me and asked me if I would hear his confession, and Sunday morning he went toCommunion. He entered the trenches Sunday night and was killed Friday night. So he was well prepared spiritually, and you have a great deal to be thankful for on that point. Your son, I am told, met his death by going over the parapet and rescuing a wounded soldier. On his return with the wounded soldier, a sniper caught him with a bullet, and he died without suffering. ‘Greater love than this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for a friend.” Captain Maguire died in making the supreme act of charity...... FROM MAJOR GEORGE BOYCE. Oct. 2nd, 1916. The last time I saw Frank alive was about five days before his death. I had ridden up behind the Brigade in charge of ambulances. The march had been an early one, starting at five o'clock, and when we reached our destination I saw Frank. He was then in excellent spirits and saluted me with his usual greeting: “Hello, George, deucedly glad to see you. Why are you out so early ?’’ These are the little things that make life worth the living out here—the warm handclasp of a- staunch friend, the hearty welcome of an old associate. All this Frank was to me and more. And now that he is gone, | mourn him as only a most worthy man can be mourned. Thus you will understand how I sympathise with you in your sorrow.... Still the consolation always remains that Frank was brave and generous and a most worthy Christian. He was cut off in the prime of manhood, having the promise of a brilliant future, but it was in doing that noblest of things human, saving helpless wounded. So well did he do that that he is being recommended for the Victoria Cross. This, of course, in no way compensates for his loss, but it shows the appreciation his fellows have of his conduct. —SEeer” 11 FROM COMPANY-SERGEANT-MAJOR GREGORY NAGLE. France, Sept. 23rd I am now sitting in a fish-pond, somewhere in France, writing this. We are just in reach of German machine guns and cannon. Our artillery is pretty active this morning and it is just as if someone was putting in about a million tons of coal in their cellar. This is the way they go: “ whoo-ee-ee-ee . . BANG! “‘whoo-ee-ze-ee. . . BANG “ whoo-ee-ee-ee . . BANG! and so on. And when bits of shell are coming anyway close they are like this ‘‘ ooooceeceee |” just like a ghost noise, and then plunk! they hit. Bullets are just “ whir . . . whir . . . crack;’” you don’t hear them till they're past you. We are going to lick the Germans to a standstill before long, but I guess the people in Canada think that we are not doing much out here. But I would like to see some of them out here, when, as the papers say, “there was a small engagement.” I don't know what they would do in the large ones. . . - All I would like is a good bath and some clean clothes. I got a few little curios that I am going to send home, first chance I get. They are only small ones, a shrapnel bullet, a German bullet-tip and an Irish button I picked up, anda ring made out of a German shell bya Belgian in the trenches. I could have had a lot of good ones, but when you have to march all over the country with your bag and baggage on you, you don’t carry much extra. . . . FROM CAPTAIN GEORGE VANIER., M.C. France, May 16th, 1916. I don’t think I have ever written a letter in such a cramped position. I am in a dug-out 21% feet high. The floor is too muddy to sit on, so I am perched on a small-arm ammunition » which means that my head is continually banging against the corrugated iron roof. Last night, when your letter, dated April 30th, reached me, I was in very much the same position, and prospects for change are not very bright for a few days. Tant pis! c'est la guerre. Yes, quite a few of our officers have returned to take up new commands, but I see by the Gazette that an end is to be put to these transfers. In some cases, it is a splendid thing for an officer to return after eight months from the trenches; it cleans his head of cobwebs, so to speak. I am very glad indeed that these officers have managed to obtain Canadian commands, but I cannot say I envy them exactly. Lately the Germans have got into a very bad habit of chucking over kerosene tins.... these contain three hand grenades, and a good sized trench-mortar, probably thrown in for luck. The noise they make is deafening. If the Censor were not looking, I would tell what effect they have. There are all sorts of little incidents—pleasant and unpleasant—to vary the monotony of trench warfare. ... Mont des Cats, June 10th, 1916. Yesterday morning a large-calibre shell burst at my feét, knocking me out, and giving my Nervous system a bad shock. I am now in a rest hospital, not by any means in the best of condition, but I expect to recuperate shortly. Putney Heath, Sept. 3rd, 1916. .,-+Day before yesterday, I had the honour of being received by the King, to be given the Military Cross. € ceremony was very simple. The King pinned the Cross on us, shook hands, and chatted a few minutes with each one of us. My convalescence leave expires on September 14th. I shall probably be sent to Shorncliffe, to await there my return to the front. Victoria Barracks, Cork, Jan. 31st, 1917. The people of Belfast went quite mad, and we could barely march through the streets. In some places we had to go in single file. The whole city was en fete, and we were most wonderfully entertained. Any number of dinners, lunches, etc.; and the men were given a splendid dinner in Ulster Hall, followed by a concert by the Philarmonic Society. Each man received as a souvenir a half-dozen khaki handkerchiefs and a half-dozen linen hand-embroidered lady’s handkerchiefs, in a souvenir box, to be sent home to Canada. No one could believe the way in which Belfast turned out. It was marvellous.