Royal engineers "sappers" tunnel rifle

[Peter Laidler]

It's fair to say that several forumers, including me and Roger keep this thread running in a non antagonistic way because it DOES attract humourous and earthy comment and more importntly, opinion. In fact 120 well thought out comments (or 100 if you don't count my non too-well thought out comments) illustrates this............. BUT

The 'evidence', such as it is is scant, amounting to a few lines in a book and some that others might describe as dodgy examples. I think to myself......... 'If I had to present a paper to a group of old, wise, pragmatic, hard nosed Uni totors/mentors/emeritus lecturers - you know the sort and you know the sort of thing - how would I go about it with this stuff.

But I'm well oin the way to being convinced. Just another 95% to go!

[Roger Payne]

XXXkin' Great! I've made 5% progress! Just another 2000 posts to go & I'll have convinced you!

[Gil Boyd]

So I can be responsible for keeping this going well into 2015, or until at least I get a definitive answer from the Royal Engineers Museum, who to appear to have all gone "Underground" here is a piece I picked up shedding doubt on any rifle being used by "TRAINED" soldiers who knew their worth of the weapns they held!!!

Underground fighting

As a result of so much mining activity by both sides, detection and breakthrough into each other's tunnelling systems occurred frequently. The result was often the deployment of the emergency camouflet,* The defenders would dig a tunnel under the attackers' tunnel. An explosive charge would be detonated to create a camouflet that would collapse the attackers' tunnel a pre-prepared charge which was always ready in the British and Allied forces sectors when tunnelling was taking place.

You must watch this short film to fully understand the TUNNELLING COMPANIES and idea set up by John Norton Griffiths who designed Manchesters drainage system workers called the "Clay Kickers"



Vicious hand-to-hand fighting in the dark with picks, shovels and wood used as weapons might also take place. Although all miners were trained to use rifles, the restrictions of tunnel construction and the conditions of the tunnels where the miners had to operate often meant they could not be used. If the opposing side were unsuccessful in repelling an attack, then enemy tunnels could be used for short periods to observe enemy tunnelling activity and direction

[Gil Boyd]

What the above video WILL confirm, is that the CLAY KICKERS who were urgently enrolled into the Roayl Engineers had NO Military training. They were despatched to the Somme hours after reporting to Chatham barracks..............even more conformation of the doubt on the shortened rifle in common use by these lads

[Roger Payne]

Gil, Nigel Greenaway & I were volunteers in the team you see on screen, so I know the documentary well. It went out in May 2013. It takes place at The Glory Hole (yes, ok, chuckle chuckle!!), known as the Ilot to the French & the Granathof to the Germans. The site is is a ruined farm located at La Boisselle on the Somme, about three miles down the road from chez Payne, right on the 1st July front line. We were both very lucky to have been taken to 80 feet underground into the tunnels by Peter & Jeremy Banning - a privilege denied most people. Peter Barton also co-wrote Beneath Flanders Fields, in which the reference from Major Stokes appears - he presumably came across it whilst researching the book.

Also, I don't follow your logic that a dearth of military training would make the rookie tunnellers less likely to interfere with a service rifle - I'd have thought the exact opposite as no one would have read them the riot act about buggering about with government property. They would also be less likely to appreciate the serious implications of subsequent use of the firearms they had modified.

Oh Gil, & another thing, you might think I'm being self serving, as it suits my side of the argument, but written evidence that something existed is always useful, but a lack of evidence does NOT prove the opposite. You seem to have all of your eggs in the RE Museum basket, but if rifles WERE modified in SMALL quantities on an AD HOC basis, AT THE FRONT, then it is quite conceivable that they may never have got a mention in the official history. It does not necessarily mean that they didn't exist; they MIGHT NOT HAVE EXISTED, but they might just never have got an official mention.

If anyone wants to see more of the activities of the group shown in the documentary there is an excellent web site - just Google 'La Boisselle Study Group'. In fact, if you watch the Dutch TV news feature on the site you'll get a brief glimpse of Nigel & yours truly cleaning & identifying finds, whilst Peter Barton talks to the interviewer!

[Gil Boyd]

Roger,
Great stuff indeed about the documentary and it was done, IMHO so well. I am sure, like you, having been there so many times in the past, you must have been justiifiably proud to have been part of it.
I often hold the Lee Enfields I have in my possession, and ponder where they have been, and on what operations they have "individually" seen. The heroism the courage these accurate killing pieces saw!! Why have they now ended up in my hands?? Pause for thought!! Why did the record for each piece not follow it throughout its Military /Police service, similar to a vehicle??

These stories of tunnellers need telling "accurately" so people for generations can be reliably informed, by those who know the true potential of warfare, and the weaponry available at the time such as the simple, but very sophisticated RIFLE.

I believe, as this thread has shown by proper written records by those who were actually there, that such a shortened weapon did exist. However, it does not corroberate the fact that these shortened Lee Enfields were common place to tunnellers or indeed even contemplated for use by the majority of experienced tunnellers, or those aware of the dangers of a cartridge explosion in such a confined space.
They knew only too well as experienced miners, what a rifle would do, or indeed any high velocity weapon would, do in such a confined space if discharged! Clearly the only benefit for the consideration of such a weapon would have been the magazine and what it held!!! but there were many other clear and effective options available for use instead, and one being the sawn off shotgun or pistol.

Major Stokes has been recorded in all periodicals, as being an accomplished British Army Engineering Officer, so one has to bite ones lip, when you try to discount a shortened "Crudly cut down" issue service rifle for use in these areas of operations.
I strongly believe, there were individuals in these R.E Mining Companies who held little time for the Military doctrin of the day, and just did what they were expert at...............digging mines to a plan. This being reflected in the limited military training they received.
Why would I need to square bash men as a Regimental Sergeant Major for weeks on a parade square, conforming to the movement of a group of men in a certain direction and configuration who clearly, would "NEVER EVER" use that soldiers requirement/ skill in their lifetime again??

[Roger Payne]

Thanks Gil. Re your third para - we agree then. I've never argued that they were commonplace. In fact I've also stated over & over again till I'm blue in the face that I agree they were a terrible idea (as currently being discussed with the incredibly short barrels), but that a few were modified by tunnellers off their own bat, probably ignorant of the implications of their handiwork, but believing in their ignorance that they'd created something that was at least better than just a spade when in a combat situation with a six foot three inch hairy arXXed Prussion armed with a butcher bayonet underground.
If I have given the impression that I think these conversions were in any way officially sanctioned then I apologise as that has never been my intention.

[Gil Boyd]

Roger,
Spot on and totally agree with your logic in that..................anyway, in my attempt to frustrate Doug in making this the longest thread on the site, here is what my long standing Military wife thought of her first trip to Ypres and the Saliant and how she was affected by the trip. She did not want to accompany me, as our son at the time was abroad on operations;

Flanders Fields 2002

I was reluctant to go on the trip to Flanders and the Somme, for a variety of reasons; the main one being that my son, Tom, at the time of booking, was serving with the Second Battalion, The Parachute Regiment, in Afghanistan. I didn’t feel brave enough to tour round the battle sites of The Great War, when all my energy and attention was directed towards the welfare of my son, and his colleagues.
I felt it would be ghoulish to traipse round endless cemeteries, where other peoples, and to my belief, none of my own relatives, were buried. I did not feel that I should become a tourist, travelling with people who, appeared to me, to have a perfect right to take photographs of gravestones. I felt ill at ease at the prospect, because I thought that my companions would be on a sort of pilgrimage, in which I had no place.
My own inadequate knowledge of the Great War fuelled my lack of desire, but, underneath, I had a gnawing feeling that I owed it to someone, I wasn’t sure who, to go on the trip.
How wrong my fears were, for those three days in France and Belgium proved to be the most awe inspiring, thought provoking, and thoroughly moving three days of my entire life.
My initial thought was that most cemeteries would be the same, but that was quickly dispelled, when we visited Lissenthoek Cemetery in Belgium, where there were some 10,000 graves, British, American, some German, and even Chinese buried there. I was immediately impressed and humbled to see the care in which the Imperial War Graves Commission were taking in tending the graves. Around twelve men, weeding, hoeing, and cutting the grass with such quiet reverence. The weather was glorious, I glanced around, and tried to imagine the scene in 1914-1918, when the now beautiful fertile countryside, must have looked very different indeed.
The gravestones bore the names of the soldiers, (and numerous unidentified soldiers) from many, now obscure, Regiments. I was struck by the ages of these men at their death, so many in their early twenties, and younger, and the dates of their death, early on in the war, and still it went on for four more terrible years. I strolled around, and strangely, although there were several thousand identical graves, erected with military precision, each one was an individual, each one had a story to tell; it was at that moment that I realised, it was to these soldiers, and their families, that I should pay my respects.
I felt compelled to learn more, to try to understand something of the horror, pain and desperation these men must have gone through. I hoped that, somehow, these soldiers could now see the respect they were being shown, ninety years later, or was it because I needed to assuage my own feelings of helplessness upon realising the enormity of their sacrifice.
As we drove through Belgium, I was surprised by the reaction of some Belgian people, who, on seeing a British coach drive by, often waved at us, from their immaculately tended gardens,(almost every house, however large or small, had a beautiful, well tended vegetable garden, with rows of leeks, furrowed earth for potatoes, and a greenhouse.) I had never before, in a foreign country, felt welcome, simply because of my nationality.
It then occurred to me, that the people of Belgium, still live with the constant reminder of what took place in the Great War, but we, as an island nation, although aware of events, have not the physical scars on the land, therefore, the facts are pushed to the back of the mind more easily.
At Poperinge, we were treated to a visit to Talbot House.
(known to the soldiers as ‘Toc H’).We were welcomed by ‘Jack’, the custodian, as if we were old friends, he gave us a wonderful presentation, and brought history to life. Poperinge, and Toc H, was the place the soldiers went to, to get some respite from the dreadful conditions they were facing on the front line. They found relative peace, and as many home comforts as could be provided.
If the soldiers had felt just a little of the welcome, we, as mere tourists received, it must have been a place of great solace and calm to them.

My spirits lifted a little, when I understood that the Belgian people had endeavoured to do as much as they could in desperate conditions, to help the men, wherever possible. Jacks’ stories, as he said, ‘brought a face to the grave’.
A visit to ‘Hill 60’, the scene of terrible fighting, was surreal. With a wood to one side, the leaves on the trees just beginning to open, birdsong was the only sound, save for the odd vehicle trundling by. As I walked over the rough, pitted ground, I could envisage the terror of the gunfire, and indeed, the gas attacks that took place there. How many men had perished? How many still lay in the earth underfoot, for they would not have been buried, it must often have been too chaotic, the firing too intense to retrieve the dead.
There had been a system of tunnels. How terrifying it must have been to come under fire, and subsequently become trapped in them.
Despite the almost sacred feel to the place, it was oddly charming to see newly built houses bordering the site, again with perfectly manicured gardens, washing on the line, and children playing less than thirty feet away. I wondered if it were strange to live so close to a place, the scene of such horrific death, but somehow it seemed right, it was an eerily peaceful place.

By now, I anticipated each site with a mild feeling of eagerness. Each cemetery was so different, but all had an aura of reverence and respect. There were always other parties of people visiting, no doubt experiencing the same emotions as I was, for no-one could go to these places and feel nothing, the sites were alive with atmosphere.
I was struck by the stark contrast between the British and French cemeteries, versus the German. The British and French, with their light coloured stones, and crosses, although places of death, had a sense of serene calm about them. The German cemeteries were austere and forbidding, with dark red coloured stone. We visited them all in brilliant sunshine, yet, still, the German graveyards appeared morose, and oppressive. I hoped that visiting German relatives would realise that, despite experiencing unimaginable horror during the war, the people of France and Belgium appreciated that many German soldiers lost their lives in equally barbaric, and horrible ways, and are therefore treated with the dignity they deserve.

Throughout the trip, I was constantly gleaning information, and was rapidly forming a picture of how the Great War was fought on such a grand scale. As far as the eye could see, the land appeared to have been affected, and damaged. Near Ypres, for example, virtually every building had been flattened from shellfire, and mines. We were told that the whole of Ypres was quickly rebuilt in the 1920’s. I found myself searching for any building predating that, but, apart from one barn, I was unsuccessful. When we later visited Arras, in France, I was mildly surprised to see, in the square, buildings dating from the 1600’s, apparently unscathed. How fearful the townspeople must have been to hear the constant pounding of gunfire, so close to their homes, the noise must have been incredible.

At ‘Hill 62’, there was a trench museum, the original trenches still visible. Although the soil around the trenches had been trampled down by the constant stream of visitors, it was simply amazing to see the warren of trenches. I tried to imagine what it was like for the soldiers who dug them out, and who worked in them. The conditions must have deteriorated very quickly, becoming squalid, largely due to the inclement weather. At times they were knee deep in mud and filth, with no firm ground underfoot, nowhere to get dry.
The museum gave a vivid impression, especially from the numerous photographs. I tried to read the thoughts from the faces of the soldiers. Some photographs were so clear, it was as if they had been taken very recently. Obviously beleagured, exhausted from relentless combat, coupled with living in filth and squalor, some men managed to smile for the photographer. One photograph I remember in particular, was of a group of soldiers in a trench, all young, looking dishevelled and weary, they showed no expression at all, they stared soullessly at the camera. What awful things had they witnessed, what had they yet to endure? How many, if any, of that group survived? Of those that lived, how many came home either wounded, shell-shocked, or deafened by the persistent gunfire? Home to people who could never completely understand or appreciate their ordeal. A far cry from the euphoria and patriotic fervour they had felt, when, along with hundreds of thousands of other young men, they had enlisted a few short years, even months earlier. How could they have imagined the devastation they were about to witness, when, fuelled by propaganda, and a sense of national pride, they joined up?
I thought to myself, we have not learnt from past experience. In 1982, when our troops left Britain for the Falkland Islands, the whole country was in a state of patriotic excitement, and anticipation, and yet again, we suffered many casualties. Is this what is called ‘The Glory of War’?
I could have spent many hours in the museum, I wanted to find out more of the human story of the War, how the soldiers lived, their daily routine, indeed, if it were possible to follow a routine in such an unpredictable environment.
The sheer logistics of providing ammunition, equipment and food for these men, must have been enormous. The communication between the regiments would have been extremely difficult, in what had become a barren and desolate landscape. I wondered how did they retrieve the dead and wounded, how many wounded men, lay waiting for help, only to die a lonely, agonising death, if they could not be located.
Cemetery after cemetery, memorial after memorial, and the magnitude of numbers involved, all began to take their toll on me that second evening, and I was quite overwhelmed.

The following day, feeling refreshed, we visited Tyne Cot cemetery, where almost 12,000 soldiers lie. Again, it was a beautiful, quiet sunny day, again the gardeners tending the graves with meticulous care. I marvelled at the organisation it took to create these cemeteries, whether a huge one, such as this, or a (relatively) small one in the middle of a field, (of which there were hundreds dotted around the countryside.)To see those thousands of graves was almost unbelievable, but then, to realise, that, at the back of the cemetery, inscribed on the wall, were the names of a further 35,000 soldiers who had no known graves, was simply staggering.

The Menin Gate memorial, in Ypres, holds a ceremony every single night, at 8pm, the Last Post is sounded, and the men lost before August 1917 are remembered. This is a truly moving occasion.
Among the hundreds of people attending on the night I went, I saw people of all nationalities, all coming together to pay their respects. I wondered, looking at an aged man, if he remembered the Great War, if indeed he was in any way involved. There must have been people at the Menin Gate who had relatives who had served, and those with relations, the bodies of whom had never been found, subsequently, their names were inscribed on the memorial itself. I couldn’t imagine anything like that happening in England, I felt ashamed to think that a magnificent memorial, such as that could be a target for vandals. Not for the first time on the trip, I felt humbled.

At Vimy Ridge, in France, the full intensity of the gunfire bombardment was very evident. Huge pot holes littered a vast area, now covered with lush grass, not one flat space between How could the men possibly have avoided being hit? There was no safe place to be.With the German front line, and at this point, the Canadian front line, literally only yards apart, how could each side have avoided killing their own men?
Here, more than 12,000 Canadians perished, a splendid white stone memorial dominated the hillside, and looked spectacular against the clear blue sky. The countryside on the Somme was quite different to that in Flanders, but I found each place we visited to be as intriguing as the last. Countless vast and noble memorials, each one dedicated to yet another regiment about whom I knew nothing; or to another country that I did not even know had been involved in the conflict. Those that designed and erected the monuments have captured the spirit of the Great War, and the men who served in it, a fitting tribute to them all.
The end of the trip came, and I felt exhausted an d overwhelmed, however, I was so grateful to have had the opportunity to experience for myself, how powerful a fieldtrip can be in evoking images and perceptions of what occurred in the past.
Although in the company of my husband, and some good friends, I had felt, at the beginning, wrapped up in my own thoughts, that it had been quite a solitary tour. It was only later, when we had the chance to discuss our feelings following the visit, that I discovered we had all experienced the same range of emotions, but had not, during the trip, had time to put them into words.
I shall never forget the Easter Battlefield tour, 2002.

Note: There may be historical, or factual inaccuracies, for which I apologise, but this is only intended as my personal account, and recollection.
Theodora Boyd.

[boltaction]

Thanks, Gil, for posting that. I have always wanted to visit the battlefields of WWI, and one of these days I will. I hope my family will accompany me, but if they don't I still will go!

I would not by any stretch of the imagination want to fire such a weapon as is described in the original post, but I could see how such a thing could have been created. Not all of the recruits in the British/Commonwealth armies would have been geniuses, and I'm sure someone would have thought it was a good idea. Maybe take a rifle which has already been damaged, cut it down to use in close quarters without necessarily thinking about how it would sound. It's also possible that some of these lads would have been almost deaf already! When I think of what happened to my hearing permanently when an idiot let off a .44 Magnum next to my unprotected ears at an indoor range 15 years ago, I am amazed that any of the vets of either WWI or WWII are able to hear anything at all!

As has been suggested, this could also have been a "trap" gun or a warning gun of some sort? Interesting regardless.

Ed

[Simon]

Rog,

Just to throw another twist on whole debate do you think there is even the slightest chance any shortened SMLE could have been re-chambered to .410?