Lou Cazaly – Runner

During the operations which led to the capture of Peronne by Australian troops – referred to in most official records as the Battle of Peronne – the men of my own Battalion (the 59th A.I.F. ) were under fire continuously for five days and nights, from 31st August to 4th September, 1918.

Throughout this period they were exposed to every type of enemy weapon – heavy and incessant shell fire, with shells carrying tear-gas, machine-gun fire from all directions, aerial bombing and aerial gunfire.

On the night of 3rd September, as soon as darkness fell, the Battalion Headquarters unit was transferred from a position behind the ramparts at Peronne to a group of dugouts directly in rear of what would then be our new line of advance, since Peronne itself had been cleared of the enemy, who was now on the run, burning his way back over the distant ridge.

On this particular day we had “hopped over” at 5.15 a.m., and after a gruelling day of warfare, while the Companies were still “taking it” in the line, several members of the Headquarters staff, including the Commanding Officer and the Adjutant, decided to get some sleep. It was my intention to do likewise, along with an Artillery Liaison Officer (Lt. F.B. Sharp, M.C.) with whom I had worked throughout the day.

But for me it was not to be, since the C.O., before turning in, instructed me to “get up to the line again to secure the latest dispositions.”
It was midnight at that moment, and my chief concern was the thought of detailing a couple of runners to accompany me on what I knew full well would be a hazardous journey (as, indeed, it proved to be).

The night was extremely dark in the immediate vicinity, but, in the distance, the town of Peronne was ablaze with the fury which the enemy was pouring into it in retaliation for having been, that day, dislodged. But, apart from the town itself, the surrounding terrain was also being pounded with everything the enemy could use.

My instructions, throughout the operations, were that two runners must be taken on each trip to the line, one at a given distance in front and the other at the rear. However, although quite contrary to the order, in view of the special conditions then prevailing, I decided to take one only.

Our Battalion runners that night were housed in a deep dugout which had to be entered by means of a narrow stairway.

With much regret I approached the entrance and called down the tunnel, “Is the runner on duty there?”

There was a brief pause, and then came the reply in a slow deep voice, “All right, sir, I’m coming.”

I thought I recognised the voice as that of one of our older men, who had been on duty all day.

When he arrived at the top of the steps of the dugout my thoughts were confirmed – it was Lou Cazaly, who had been with me since 5 a.m.

Immediately I put the question: “What does this mean, Cazaly? You’ve been on duty all day!”

Then came Lou’s answer – “Yes, sir, I know that! As a matter of fact, young Snowy is on duty, but he was fast asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake him.”

I have never forgotten the effect which these words had upon Out there, in the inky blackness of that terrible night, my soul was deeply stirred.
me.

I turned aside and made a solemn vow, saying almost audibly, “I shall never forget these men.”

A little more than ten years later the opportunity came for its fulfilment.
Lou Cazaly – the Great Depression, and the Carry On Club were links of the one chain.