Pushed and the Return Push — Text and Context

The Weight of Routine Under Fire

The excerpts reveal how the narrator's account is built around the rhythms of artillery work: reconnaissance, orders, moves, and the constant threat of shellfire. After a briefing at Bécourt Chateau, where 'Divisional Headquarters were living in tents outside,' the narrator rides back with instructions for battery commanders. The colonel's penciled message—'Warn batteries that they must have gun limbers and firing battery waggons within 1000 yards of their positions by 3.30 A.M.'—shows the precise timetabling of operations. Yet this orderliness is undercut by chaos: a night move where 'other brigades of artillery were taking the same route,' causing congestion, and where 'one 18-pdr. had slipped into a shell-hole.' The men strain on drag-ropes, shouting 'Heave!' while German 5.9-inch guns target the area. The narrator notes that 'the Boche 5·9 gunners had marked the place down,' a terse acknowledgment of danger.

Voice and Perspective: The Narrator as Observer

The narrator, writing under the pseudonym 'Quex,' adopts a tone that is both professional and personal. He records conversations with a 'huge, red-faced, grey-haired adjutant' and a 'new American doctor, who appeared armed with two copies of the Saturday Evening Post.' These details humanize the staff. When three high-velocity shells explode near his horse, he asks his grooms, 'Did those come anywhere near you?' and receives the understated reply, 'We just missed 'em, sir.' The narrator's own reactions are often implied rather than stated; he describes the grooms as 'collectedly, but each with a strained look.' This restraint is characteristic of the memoir, which focuses on actions and observations rather than interior emotions. The use of military shorthand—map references like 'X 10 and X 11,' terms like 'C.R.A.' and 'O.P.'—immerses the reader in the artilleryman's world without explanation.

Structure: Two Movements, One War

The book is divided into two parts: 'Pushed' (covering the German offensive of March 1918) and 'The Return Push' (the Allied counter-offensive from August onward). The excerpts from the latter show a shift in momentum. At Bécourt Chateau, the brigade-major reports that 'the Boche has not yet made a proper stand' and that infantry are 'approaching Trones Wood.' The narrator notes that 'a 5·9 battery shooting from the direction of Ginchy' is being handled by counter-battery fire, and that 'heavies' have moved '8-inch hows. as far up as Fricourt.' The tone becomes more optimistic, with phrases like 'Happy Days!' as a chapter title. Yet the danger persists: the narrator's horse is nearly hit at a watering trough. The structure mirrors the historical arc, but the narrative remains grounded in the specific experiences of one artillery brigade.

Recurring Details: Horses, Shell-Holes, and the Landscape

Throughout the excerpts, horses are a constant presence—as transport, as companions, and as vulnerable targets. The adjutant's 'big rattling chestnut' charger, the grooms riding 'collectedly' after near-misses, and the team with 'two horses down' during a night move all underscore the reliance on animal power. The landscape is marked by destruction: 'a damp valley that lay west of a stretch of tree-stumps and scrubby undergrowth—remnants of what was a thick leafy wood before the hurricane bombardments of July 1916.' This is the Somme battlefield, still scarred two years later. The narrator also notes the 'heavy and hazardous' going, with shell-holes and congestion. These details create a sense of place that is both specific and representative of the Western Front.

Readers approaching Pushed and the Return Push will find a narrative that moves at the pace of an artillery brigade: moments of tense waiting punctuated by sudden moves and shellfire. The author's pseudonym, 'Quex,' and his focus on the collective effort of the Royal Field Artillery, make this a valuable record of a particular role in the war. The excerpts suggest that the book rewards attention to small details—the borrowed horse, the penciled order, the grooms' strained faces—rather than grand strategy. It is a memoir of the middle ranks, where orders are received and executed, and where survival depends on routine and luck.

There’s something about reading firsthand accounts of the 1918 retreat that stays with you—the raw noise of it, the confusion. That feeling followed me into another book, one that traces the same ground from a division’s wider lens, The 42nd (East Lancashire) Division 1914-1918 — Reading Companion, and I found myself missing the personal voice even as the bigger picture clicked into place.