Edgar Harold - Sergeant - 19th Battalion

I knew my grandfather, Edgar Harold, had won the Military Medal during World War 1 and that he'd fought at Vimy Ridge and elsewhere, but I knew very little about his time in the Canadian Army and certainly very little about how he won the medal. The Military Medal (MM) was awarded to non-commissioned officers for acts of bravery in the field and Edgar certainly wasn’t one to boast about it.

It wasn’t that I didn’t try to get information about the war from him while he was still alive. He simply programmed himself not to speak about the terrible things that happened. After all, it was supposed to be 'the war to end all wars' -- a short, quick victory.

Imagine for a moment, within months of joining up you find yourself in such horrifying conditions, living in a cold, muddy trench infested with lice and rats? Friends are dying around you and most of you are just kids. You’re under constant enemy fire and soon want it all over, but for over 60,000 Canadians there will be no return. This is not what you signed up for.

Well, it turns out Edgar was in fact interviewed about Vimy before his death in 1980 and wrote a bit about his experiences in his memoirs. It wasn't until years after his death that I came across his journals and a few of the 19th Battalion Association newsletters he highlighted. Thus, I created this blog in his memory. Read here about my grandfather’s experiences and let us rejoice in the fact we have a written record of these events for future reference.

Note: For a more in-depth and complete examination of the 19 Battalion, please see David Campbell's 'It Can't Last Forever: The 19th Battalion and the Canadian Corps in the First World War'.

Also see the Regimental Foundation of The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders of Canada (Princess Louise’s) history of the 19th Battalion (CEF).

Photo credits: Edgar Harold private collection, MM - Veterans Affairs Canada, 19th cap badge - public domain.

Jim Cook

Incident at the Canal du Nord

by Sergeant Edgar Harold, 19th Battalion

My platoon, No 13 in "D" Company, 19th Battalion, was holding the line. We were separated by a short belt of woods from the Germans who were holding the Canal du Nord maybe 100 yards ahead. It was a fairly deep wide cut. 

Behind us on a hill was a new trench we had dug the night previous to taking over this line. The German artillery fire was directed over our heads to this area. We were established in what had been German Horse Lines. My 2nd in command, Corporal Jack Simon and I occupied a small hut, say 8' by 10'. The wall was blanketed to deaden sounds we might make and any evidence of light from inside. The rest of the platoon was stretched along the trench in small groups. We all spoke in whispers and someone had to be awake at all times. In the daytime Jack and I took turns on watch, but no untoward incidents took place until the one I am about to relate.

As darkness came down it was my custom to patrol the lines. I was standing up by a little desk looking over an aerial photo of the area. Jack, who had recently returned to the battalion after a long period recovering from wounds was cleaning his rifle behind me. He cleaned the barrel, put in a new clip of shells and instead of putting on his safety catch, pulled the trigger. The bullet went between my arm and body and blew the photo into nothingness. I looked at him in complete surprise... his face was ghostlike.

My main concern was what effect this would have on the Germans. We listened for some time, but there was no reaction. I said to Jack, "we're both lucky, no harm done, now let's get on with the inspection".  We stepped out of our cabin and inquired of the front section about the day's happening when I saw Jack was not following me. He told me later he was right at my feet, but couldn't move an inch as he was so shaken up. I selected another corporal to accompany me on my rounds.

The last sentry we visited was an original member of the battalion. One of two left. His name was "Frenchy" Hamal. No 55849. Frenchy was a very steady man, but he pointed out a small hut 30 to 40 feet into the woods and was sure he had heard or seen activity there. Feeling it would relieve him and set an example, I climbed out of the trench and walked toward the hut. It had a door which was closed. I surveyed the situation and came back. His mind was much relieved, and so was mine.

What brought this story back to mind? I came across a small pocket notebook I had not seen in years. I was looking up Homel's name on my nominal roll written a few days before my own departure on October 10, 1918, thanks to a machine gun bullet which creased my left leg. The whole incident came back with crystal clearness. I was reminded I had returned to the battalion at my own request after a long period as an instructor at the divisional school and felt I must 'win my spurs' in the field. I was happy with my decision and this continued until the decisions were transferred to others on October 10th. Jack Simon who took over our platoon from me lost his life in battle near Mons, France November 11, 1918.