Nova Scotia/Nunavut Command of The Royal Canadian Legion www.ns.legion.ca 21 When Lt. Howard Johnstone Fell Story as told by a Soldier who was with him (N.S archives news clipping) The story of how Lieut. Howard Johnstone, of Sydney Nova Scotia, fell on the field of honour, had been previously reported from the front, but not with the intimate touch that was given to it by a member of the same battalion who had returned from the front. The teller of the story was with Mr. Johnstone at the time that he met his death and was himself wounded the day following at the 2nd battle of the Somme. The following story is taken from news articles of the day in 1916. “It was on the first day of October 1916, that Lieut. Johnstone fell,” said the returned soldier to a Morning Chronicle reporter yesterday. “All that day we had been in our trenches watching the work of the British artillery, back of our lines, as they threw sections of the Hun trenches into the air, in clouds of dust and debris. Our time had not come yet, and we kept under cover in the murky trenches and did nothing while the German guns roared back their reply to the artillery on our side. All the German efforts were not fruitless, for many of the shells burst alongside us and kept us pretty well under cover. “Waiting under such circumstances is far from pleasant, and all of us in the company, of which Mr. Johnstone was the acting Major, were more or less keyed up and inclined to take matters into our own hands and go ‘over the top.’ Mr. Johnstone was the life of the boys in our section of the trench that day and kept us feeling good with his stories and jokes. “Night fell at last and those of us who cared to do so ate a frugal meal, and then kept quite waiting for the word to charge, which we knew was due to arrive at any moment. The night was a typical one in the trenches, with its murky, foggy atmosphere, thick with the fumes of high explosives and filled with the roar of bursting shells. At last the word came. “Johnstone, who was well known for his intrepid fearlessness, was the first one to reach the top, so far as I can recollect, and I remember distinctly seeing him standing there silhouetted against the skyline, as a bursting shell threw everything into relief. Then we were over. There was nothing distinct then for a time, until we were under way. With a rush we swept at the Hun trench until we struck their wire. Wire seemed to be everywhere and the enemy were popping away at us. Here and there, I saw a man go down but there was nothing we could do to help him, so we kept on trying to break through the mass of stakes and wire. Soon it was seen that there was nothing to do but get under cover, as the Germans were finding our range and were getting closer and closer with every shot. “Between the wire and our lines there were some shell holes, and to these we now made our way, only now Mr. Johnstone was the last in the line. Together we went into the recesses and started to dig under. One of the boys alongside me ‘got his’ and I was busy trying to work my Lee Enfield as well as I knew how. “There was the incessant rattle of machine gun fire and the same heavier roll of artillery. Johnstone came over the top into the hole where we were, with his eyes ablaze and almost crying at the enforced retreat. As he came to a point near where I was, he was hit by a shell. Not a word did he utter, but crumpled up into the recess alongside of us with a smile on his lips.” “Men have been given decorations,” said the story teller, “who, while heroes in every fibre, did not deserve their distinction any more than this same Lieut. Howard Johnstone. If there is such a thing, he is one of the men who were too brave; and if you ever hear anyone say anything about the work being done by young officers in action, just add for me that Johnstone deserves a place with the best of them. A boy in years, but a Canadian through and through, and more than that cannot be said in praise of any man when the final chapter of the war is written, and our boys come in for their true credit in this great war for liberty.” “My injury? Oh it was nothing”, and the returned soldier showed his left hand with three fingers missing where a shrapnel scrap had left him unfit for further service.
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