I don’t see that there was a whale of a difference between the Home Rule Bill at that time and the Treaty as it was subsequently accepted.’40
Dalton also recognized the galvanizing effect of the British government’s attempt to introduce conscription in Ireland in 1918. That move was widely opposed by all elements of nationalist Ireland, including the Irish Parliamentary Party, and was later abandoned. Dalton told RTÉ interviewer Pádraig Ó Raghallaigh that he believed the move to impose conscription had an ‘extraordinary effect’. He said the Irish people stood solid against conscription, and he recalled the petition signatures and protests outside the churches on Sundays.41
Despite Dalton’s doubts and misgivings about the 1916 rebellion, he was destined to serve with the IRA in the War of Independence and, after the Truce, to be a member of Michael Collins’s entourage during the talks in late 1921 that resulted in the Anglo-Irish Treaty, but in the meantime he would undergo the horror of the trenches as a young British Army officer in the Great War.
CHAPTER TWO
The Great War
In the high summer of 1916, the Battle of the Somme was raging in France. This great Allied offensive against the German lines was set to become the bloodiest encounter ever experienced by the British Army in its long history. The fighting at the Somme had been in progress for a couple of weeks when, back in Ireland, on 15 July, 18-year-old Emmet Dalton passed his military examinations. He was judged to be an officer who was qualified for active service with the 7th Battalion of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers (RDF). The following month 2nd Lieutenant Dalton was sent to France. The scale of the carnage meant that the British war machine required a constant supply of young men like Dalton to be hurled into the maelstrom. Soon, the teenaged officer would find himself in the firing line in a major offensive. Having lied about his age on joining up, it appears he continued with the subterfuge. In the official booklet given to each officer, the Officer’s Record of Services, his date of birth is given as 4 March 1896, instead of 1898 – adding two years to his real age.1
In early September Dalton was transferred to the 9th Battalion, RDF, attached to the 48th Irish Brigade. The 48th brigade was part of the 16th (Irish) Division, commanded by Major General W.B. Hickie. Many of the officers and men in the Division were Redmondites, supporters of Home Rule. Like Dalton, there were those who had been shocked and horrified at the news of the Easter Rising in Dublin. The men of the Division were up against a formidable German foe who had already killed many of their comrades, and it seemed to some of them that the rebels back in Dublin had thrown in their lot with this enemy.
For a young man far from home in a dangerous, challenging environment, it can be very reassuring to encounter a familiar, friendly face. Dalton was delighted to meet, among the officers of the 9th, his father’s friend Tom Kettle. The former Irish Party MP had forsaken his post as Professor of National Economy for the rather more dangerous role of a company commander with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Noted for his eloquence and his scholarship, he had achieved considerable prominence in the Nationalist movement and was a co-founder of the Land League.
The 9th Battalion was about to take part in a major offensive to capture what remained of the town of Ginchy. In the few days they were to have together in the advance trenches before the Ginchy operation, Emmet Dalton and Tom Kettle became firm friends, despite the age gap between them. Kettle was 36 years old – twice Dalton’s age. Dalton found Kettle to be a ‘very charming and delightful man’. Dalton recalled sitting with him just before the movement up to the front line for the offensive. ‘He recited to me a poem that he had written to his daughter, and he had it written down in a field notebook.’ Dalton said it was a ‘delightful little poem’.2 To My Daughter Betty, The Gift of God would become one of the most memorable poems to emerge from the Great War.
Kettle could have avoided the assault on Ginchy in which he was to die but he chose to stay with his men. On the night before his battalion moved up to the Somme, Kettle wrote a letter to a friend saying that he had two chances of leaving – one on account of sickness and the other to take a staff appointment. ‘I have chosen to stay with my comrades,’ he wrote. ‘The bombardment, destruction and bloodshed are beyond all imagination. Nor did I ever think that valour of simple men could be quite as beautiful as that of my Dublin Fusiliers.’3 The extent of the bloodletting was brought home to Dalton in a chilling manner when he was walking along a trench. The ground seemed soft and soggy with what appeared to be stones here and there, and he kept slipping. He mentioned the stones underfoot to a sergeant who informed him that they were not stones – they were the remains of men killed in previous fighting.4
The Germans had a firm grip on Ginchy, and British commander Field Marshal Douglas Haig was determined that it would be captured. Previous attempts had been made to seize Ginchy by 7 Division, and they had come from the same direction, Delville Wood. The forces of 7 Division were withdrawn after suffering massive casualties. Now the British top brass decided to attack from another direction, from the south, throwing the 16th (Irish) Division into the fray. The Irish would attack from the newly-captured area around Guillemont. They would also mount an assault in greater strength than 7 Division. The weather was unfavourable – rain was falling. However, good fortune would favour the Irish, in that two new German divisions had been deployed in the sector and effective communications had not been established between them. As a result, the forces holding Ginchy lacked support.5 This lack of coordination helped give the Irish the edge as they advanced, supported by artillery. Nevertheless, the attacking forces would suffer very heavy casualties.
Death of Tom Kettle
Dalton later recalled how he and Tom Kettle were both in the trenches at Trones Wood, opposite Guillemont, on the morning of 8 September 1916.6 The mood was sombre. Their battalion had sustained heavy casualties from German shellfire the day before, losing about 200 men and seven officers. As they talked, an orderly arrived with a note for each officer: ‘Be in readiness. Battalion will take up A and B position in front of Guinchy [Ginchy] tonight at 12 midnight.’ Kettle was in command of B Company while Dalton was second-in-command of A Company.
Dalton recalled in a letter: ‘I was with Tom when he advanced to the position that night, and the stench of the dead that covered our road was so awful that we both used some foot-powder on our faces. When we reached our objective we dug ourselves in, and then, at five o’clock p.m. on the 9th, we attacked Guinchy’ [sic]’.7 It is unclear why the attack was timed for so late in the day. It may have been intended to deprive the enemy of sufficient daylight time to organize a counter-attack. It may also have been because the enemy expected a normal dawn offensive starting time.
The massed ranks of British artillery opened a rolling barrage as the Dubs left their trenches. Dalton recalled the moment that Kettle was hit.8
I was just behind Tom when we went over the top. He was in a bent position, and a bullet got over a steel waistcoat that he wore and entered his heart. Well, he only lasted about one minute, and he had my crucifix in his hands. Then Boyd9 took all the papers and things out of Tom’s pockets in order to keep them for Mrs. Kettle, but poor Boyd was blown to atoms in a few minutes. The Welsh Guards buried Mr. Kettle’s remains. Tom’s death has been a big blow to the regiment, and I am afraid that I could not put in words my feelings on the subject.
In another letter Dalton wrote: ‘Mr. Kettle died a grand and holy death — the death of a soldier and a true Christian.’10 It is said that when Kettle’s aged father Andrew heard the news that his son was missing in action, he responded: ‘If Tom is dead, I don’t want to live any longer.’ True to his word, within two weeks he himself joined his son in death, passing away at eighty-three years of age.
Although there was no trace of the personal possessions
