TALES OF THE V.C.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 16301, 29 November 1918, Page 5

TALES OF THE V.C.

THE REV. T. B. HARDY, V.C., D. 5.0., M.C.

This, is the tale of how the Reverend Theodore Bailey Hardy, once a schoolmaster, and lately vicar of the country parish of Hutton Roof, in the County of Westmorland, won the high honour of the Victoria Cross. Ho was a- man of more than 5U years of ago; novorthcI loss, when the call came he stepped down from his pulpit and went out to minister to a greater need in France. Bravo even to recklessness, careless of his own safety in his regard for the safety and welfare of others, ho soon won a peculiar place in the affections lof the men of his battalion. They soon learnt to know and to love him, and to' look eagerly for the face of , this quiet priest who shirked no hardships and hooded no danger. They knew—for had they not proved it many times ? —that wherever the shells fell thickest, wherever tho need for his presence was greatest, there their padre would be found, comforting the- wounded, and breathing new spirit into tho weary. D.S.O. and M.C. wore letters which he was already privileged to write after hi.s name. The Distinguished Service Order ho had won for an action which sheds a bright light on the devotion and determination of the man. Hearing that ono of the soldiers lay helpless between the lines, in spite of tho agony of a broken wrist and the groat shells that fell between him and his goal, hq had crawled out to within 70 yards of the German trenches, and remained with the wounded man until ho was able to bring him back in safety across No Man’s Land. It was in tho month of April, 1918, that ho won tho Victoria Cross. His brigade was then holding trenches in tho dead and wasted country round Bncquoy, which, thanks to the valour of our troops, is now far behind the line. When dawn broke on the sth of April, a battalion of tho brigade went out of their trenches to attack Rossignol Wood, which lies halfway between the villages of Hebuteme and Bncquoy, and has as evil a history as any wood of its size, in France. Tho battalion entered the wood, and prisoners began to trickle back, but later in the day the Germans returned in strength, and by noon had driven the British back, almost to tho edge of tho wood. It was about this time that a sergeant,

who, with two sections of his company, was clinging desperately to some shallow trenches 70 yards inside the wood, saw with astonishment an officer walking towards him through the trees from the direction of the German lines. It was tho Padre. It appeared that, somewhere in tho, heart of the wood, ho had discovered a badly _ wounded man, and he was now on his way to find help to bring him in. Here is the story in tho sergeant’s words: “The Germans had been bombing us badly, and wo had four wounded. We wore obliged to withdraw some distance, but ono of the men was so badly hurt that wo had to leave him behind. He was lying about ten yards on our side of a pillbox which we had taken in tho morning, but which was now once more occupied by tho enemy. It was shortly after noon that tho padre came along and asked mo if I thought wo could got the wounded man back. I told him I thought we could; at all events wo would try. So we wont out to the spot where the man lay. Ho was too weak to stand up, but the padre gave him a drink of brandy, and this revived him a little, so that between ns we wore able to drag him to the trench where our men were. We had several tries before we could get him clear of the wood, as every 15 yards or so we had to rest him, as he was so exhausted, and it was difficult to move him, as his arm was so bad. Wo got him to tho trench just West of the wood, and I left him there with the padre and went back to my men in front. “Later on, about 3.30 p.m., we were ordered to withdrew from the wood, and when we came to our own trench the padre was still sitting with tho wounded man. Tho Germans had been using trench mortars very freely on this part from about 12.30 p.m. onward.”

A little after 6 o’clock the padre returned to the Regimental Aid Post, a mile behind Rossignol Wood, and asked for volunteers to bring tho man back. There wore four stretcher-bearers at tho Aid Post, and they had been at work all day, and wore very tired. Their relief had arrived, but they volunteered as one man. As one of them put it: “We were glad to go, because tho padre asked us.” So the five of them went up to Rossignol 'Wood. They had work enough to roach tho wood, but it was harder to come back, with that helpless burden on the stretcher, along a trench that was often waistdeep in mud and water. Three hours had passed, three anxious, weary hours, before their task was over. The London Gazette tells of two other things which this brave padre did, also in the same month of April. At 2.30 a.m. on tho morning of the 26th, two officers of a battalion of the Somersets took out a patrol to attack a German post in the ruins of the village of JBucquoy. The padre, who hapEened to bo at Company Headquarters, eard some firing, and went forward alone to see what help ho could give. Pour hundred yards beyond tho front line he found one of the officers lying unconscious on the ground. He had been shot through the leg, and was rapidly bleeding to death. The padre applied a tourniquet, and remained with the wounded officer until the patrol returned. During the time a German patrol was actually between him and tho British line. There is no doubt that his coolness and prompt action saved tho officer’s life. Two nights later a trench mortar exploded in the middle of one of the machine-gun posts in the front line, and two men were buried in the ruins of a building. Five minutes later the padre arrived on the spot, which was being shelled heavily, and began to clear away tho debris with his hands. Ho succeeded in rescuing one man who was badly wounded, but tho other was found to be dead. During tho whole of this time, the one wall of the building which still stood was rocking dangerously, and might have collapsed at any moment. Tho padre continued to work until he was assured that nothing could be done for the buried man, and even then he would have gone on, had an officer not insisted on his stopping. Before ho left, he read tho burial service over the dead man. Shortly after he had gone, tho wall fell.

Is it any wonder that Theodore Bailey Hardy was a padre after the men’s own heart? Surely no man better deserved the tribute which is written above the record of his valour in the London Gazette:— ‘This army chaplain, who is over 50 years of age, has, by his fearlessness, devotion to the men of his battalion, and quiet, unobtrusive manner, won the respect and admiration of the whole division. He literally does not know what4aJi£er- j£, and is -sme tci-.be found

where the enemy’s fire is heaviest and conditions aro worst. His marvellous energy and endurance would be remarkable even in a very much younger man.”—Lieut. J. F. Lloyd.