Letters From the Front

Dated:

HOW HE WAS TAKEN PRISONER

Story of Lance-Corpl. G.W. Frost, of Red Deer

Mrs. G.W. Frost has received from her husband, Lance-Corporal Frost, now in Switzerland as an exchanged prisoner of war, and passed to come home to Red Deer before long, an account of how he was captured. Mr. Frost was captured in the first memorable German gas attack when the Canadians so gallantly held the line at St. Julien on April 23, after the Algerian troops had broken under the clouds of poisonous gas. Mr. Frost says:

“On April 22, 1915, I was with several companions swimming in the Yser canal near our billet. An urgent order was given to vacate our billet for a new one north-east of town, somewhat nearer the firing line. The company was marched off as rapidly as possible, and by order of my Company Sergt-Major, I was left behind to look after some spare kits belonging to men who were not aware of the urgent order to change billets. As fast as the men arrived and claimed their possessions, I directed them the shortest possible route to the new billets. When the last man had left, I straightened up the billets and proceeded to rejoin my company.”

“On the way through the town I was somewhat delayed in attending to some civilians, men, women and children, some of them wounded, the whole of them in a terrible state of fright and excitement. The town and the district at this time was being heavily shelled by the enemy.”

“As soon as possible, I made my way towards our new billets, arriving some time after 4 p.m. To my great surprise I found the place empty. Shells were dropping in the vicinity, also stray bullets, and towards the firing line there seemed to be very heavy rifle fire. I felt sure my company had for some good reason vacated their new billets, and being left entirely on my own, I took the only course which seemed the right thing to do, and after divesting myself of my overcoat and heavy jacket, I started off for the firing line. I was fortunate in not being hit crossing a wide field towards the road, which led through the wood where the 4.7 guns of the 2nd London Heavy Brigade were in position. After crawling through the hedge on to this road, I looked carefully towards the firing line and saw several men hurrying towards me evidently on their way to Ypres. Having no glasses, I concealed myself in a small stone house about four feet square (built for a crucifix), at the junction of the two roads, and with rifle at the ready, awaited the men approaching. As they drew near I saw that they were French colonial coloured troopers, five in number. I tried to gain some information from them, but the best I could get was “Alleman cum, Alleman cum”. They also tried to make me understand they had been “suffocating,” but of course not being familiar with gas attacks, I could not comprehend clearly their meaning, but I realized something serious was going on in front, or why should these fellows be running away, and above all, why they had no arms. Still believing my company was up in the firing line somewhere, I decided to send a written message back to Ypres by one of these Algerians instructing him to give it to the first British officer or soldier he saw. Whilst writing a message on a leaf of my pocket book, one of the poor fellows was killed. The other four were about to bolt, but I raised my rifle and kept them there until I had finished my writing. Then giving the note to one of them, I instructed him what to do with it, and as they were not armed, and no earthly use to anyone I let them go. The last I saw of them, they were crawling under cover of the hedge back to Ypres, and perhaps freedom. Whether my message ever reached some responsible person I cannot say, but I hope it did.”

“On the roadway to the right of the crucifix shelter stood an abandoned ammunition wagon. I wrote another message, detailing my whereabouts and intentions, and lifting the cover of the box I placed the message therein, and after a careful look round I decided to advance towards the wood along the road leading to the firing line. I went very carefully keeping close to the hedge on my left and taking advantage of the ditch as cover. I was within probably 300 yards of the woods when my attention was drawn to a party of armed men walking across the field towards the 459 billet on my right. There were perhaps a dozen and by their dress I made sure they were a small party of the enemy. I watched them from my place of concealment in the ditch, fearing to fire on them in case I should be mistaken. However, they entered the billet and captured all who were there with the exception of one man whom I saw ride like mad towards Ypres. The enemy then retired towards the wood with their prisoners. I kept concealed watching the wood and the roadway. I was just upon the point of retiring to my crucifix shelter when I espied some of the enemy digging near the junction of the wood and road. I commenced a little sniping of my own, and the range not being long, I registered some hits, one in particular who was carrying what I took to be machine gun parts. I kept looking occasionally towards Ypres, expecting to see khaki, alternately firing on the enemy and keeping his head down, until darkness came upon us. I then cautiously made my way to the crucifix with the intention of getting back to Ypres if possible with my news. Crawling slowly along the ditch, keeping ears and eyes open for danger, I was astonished on nearing my crucifix to hear strange tongues. “Good God,” I heard myself exclaim, “they are Germans.” What had become of my company, where was my battalion. I was surrounded. I quietly filled my magazine. I was on my own but no two men were going to have me alive. I lay very quiet for a few moments, which seemed more like years, then as things seemed quiet, I commenced to crawl slowly, when my rifle butted against an empty beet can. The noise sounded like the explosion of a Jack Johnson. A few more moments of anxious waiting but no one came towards me. Then I commenced to crawl again, reached my crucifix safely, and hearing no further sound I made my way along the hedge towards Ypres. When near town I met a French officer on foot with his orderly. I gave him the enemy’s position and asked him to direct me to the nearest British troops. He told me the direction in which I would be able to find them, but it was late in the evening when I eventually found the 10th and 16th battalions preparing to charge. I found my Sergeant, Norman Glover, and reported. All was excitement and I firmly believed then that my message had been safely delivered and that I was to be permitted to see the fruits of my observations. We charged. In my anxiety to do something I went with others too far, and found later on that I was again surrounded for the second time, and early on Friday morning I was made prisoner while nursing an injured ankle.”

“What became of me after my capture need not be related. During the two years and ten months of my captivity I never forgot my nationality, my King and the glorious country of my adoption – Canada.”

“I was at the mercy of an unscrupulous foe. But although I had no arms, I fought, and I am proud to say that all my comrades in captivity, British and colonial, have never, as far as I have seen, felt at home in the land of our common foe.”

“What I personally endured during my captivity does not matter. I only wish my commanding officer to say he forgives me for being captured and not doing more for my King, my country, and the world."

G.W. Frost.
10th Canadian Battalion