Our Great Hearted Men

by Peter Brune

  From its first engagement at Flers-Courcelette on 15 September 1916, until the advent of the Battle of Cambrai around fourteen months later, the tank’s chequered campaigning was quite simply a series of attempts to first manufacture a reliable tank, then to establish a doctrine, and, above all else, to achieve a degree of credibility within the BEF. That it met those objectives to a significant degree was no mean feat, given that within a mere three years it had progressed from a vague concept to a legitimate arm of warfare.

  While Cambrai was the turning point in the tactical sense, by 1918 the Tank Corps had established a number of structural initiatives. Although the need for an adequate supply system for tanks was understood before their deployment in France, because of a shortage of tanks, it was February 1917 before efforts were made to allocate supply tanks. It would be June 1917 before each tank battalion received six supply tanks. On 1 February 1918, carrier units were formed and by July of that year, a supply company was allotted to each of the five tank brigades. Their ability to carry Royal Engineer matériel, weapons, ammunition and water was to prove an enormous saving in manpower. By 1918 the Tank Corps possessed a highly efficient Central Workshops system that could repair tanks, send Salvage Companies to recover tanks that had been knocked out or had broken down, and then repair or re-use salvaged tanks, parts and guns. Such labour in this Central Workshops system allowed the ongoing specialisation of manpower and skills. This in turn allowed the tank crews themselves to maintain their tanks. Each crew member would eventually be responsible for a specific part of that maintenance and, where possible, crews would operate and maintain their own tank on a permanent basis so as to understand the peculiarities of their tank. This was facilitated by an Advanced Stores system.

  The Mark V Tank, which arrived in 1918, was a major improvement on the Mark IV. Like its predecessors, the Mark V was to a large extent rushed into service. Produced during 1917 through to mid-1918, and essentially of the same hull design and weight, the Mark V had an improved 150 hp Ricardo engine; its maximum speed was 4.6 mph and its average speed 3 mph; its endurance was a further improved nine hours and its range 25 miles; its machine guns were changed back to the Hotchkiss rather than the Mark IV’s Lewis Guns; it was far more manoeuvrable; and, critically, its new epicyclic gears allowed the driver to drive the tank without the commander and the rearward ‘gearmen’ assisting him. This measure obviously freed crewmen to concentrate on other duties, such as the guns, machine guns and observation.

  On 3 March 1918, the newly formed 5th Tank Brigade opened its HQ at Blangy-sur-Ternoise in France. At the end of that month it received a new CO—Brigadier-General Anthony Courage. This officer and his newly formed 5th Tank Brigade were destined to serve with the Australian Corps through some of the greatest triumphs of the 100 days’ offensive of 1918.

  ***

  F M Cutlack, The Official Australian Flying Corps Historian:

  At the beginning of the war the existing aeroplanes on either side were but elementary machines. They carried no armament, and were regarded chiefly as auxiliaries to cavalry for purposes of reconnaissance. They were still largely at the mercy of any unfavourable breeze. Their flying speed was not great; their climbing speed, judged by the performances of 1918 types, was ludicrous.22

  Prior to the Great War, the German Government had provided significant funding to military aviation, stipulating that all aircraft be built in Germany to standard specifications and that these planes must have the ability to carry bombs and cameras. It was a far-sighted initiative that saw an early establishment of 1000 planes.23 In 1912 the French Army had received some 500 aircraft of which around 340 were serviceable, and at the beginning of the war its ‘total effectives, comprising pilots, observers, and mechanics, numbered 4,343 . . .’24

  By contrast, in 1914 the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) was composed of four squadrons. Each squadron consisted of eighteen planes, made up of three flights each of four planes, with two in reserve—72 planes. Within four years, at the end of the war, the Royal Air Force (RAF) formed in April 1918, had ‘grown to a force of 300 000 officers and men, 201 squadrons, and 22 000 machines in use’.25

  With the early advent of trench warfare on the Western Front, the aeroplane replaced the cavalry as the chief form of reconnaissance. Such reconnaissance had a dual purpose: first, it relied upon gaining an insight into the enemy’s trenches, his strength in terms of infantry deployment and movement, the location of machine gun posts and gun batteries, the location(s) of HQ, and his logistics capabilities in terms of supply dumps, road networks and railheads; and second, to retard the German Air Force’s ability to ascertain that very same intelligence. And these two reconnaissance functions relied to a very critical degree on the ability of either side to have at best air superiority or, at the very least, air parity. This became contingent upon constant improvements in the types and capabilities of their aircraft. There was the pressing demand for improved technology, and as the war progressed, there was the need to integrate this new resource into an all-arms battle plan.

  Early attempts at this new form of reconnaissance were crude, and were heavily reliant upon the expertise of the observer. It was he who had to prioritise and then spot what he was looking for; he had to quickly interpret and accurately map what he had seen; he had to communicate with his pilot in an open, windy and noisy cockpit; and the whole exercise was greatly influenced by the weather conditions—and the presence of enemy planes—on any given day.

  Four evolving attributes during the first years of the war added detail and accuracy to the RFC’s reconnaissance and therefore its ability to assist ground forces.

  The first was the challenge of taking high-quality and more numerous aerial photos. In late 1914 the first photos were blurred and taken by a hand-held camera, while in the spring of 1915 the Type A and then the Type B Camera (still hand-held) gradually improved the process, and were able to take the first photos of German trenches prior to the Battle of Neuve Chapelle in March of that year. In the summer of 1915 came the semi-automatic plate-changing Type C Camera, which was mounted on the aircraft and later employed during the Battle of the Somme. In the autumn of 1916 the Type E Camera was able to reduce vibration; during the spring of 1917 the Type L Camera provided the breakthrough of automatic plate changing; and in March 1918 came the LB/BM Type Camera, which had a longer focal length. Experience gradually taught the RFC that a combination of oblique and vertical photos gave detailed intelligence as to the German trench systems, their gun battery locations, their machine gun posts and troop concentrations, and any changes to all of these that might indicate either counter-attacks or a strengthening of their defences at any given location. The oblique photos were generally taken at around 1000 to 1500 feet and provided an extensive ‘bird’s eye view’ of smaller tracts of terrain, while the vertical photos were employed to offer a view of the enemy’s lines up to 4000 yards behind his front. F M Cutlack, The Official Australian Flying Corps Historian:

  Vertical photographs for mapping purposes were normally taken with a wide-angle lens at from 8,000 to 10,000 feet, in order to include as wide an area, and as many ‘fixed points’ as possible. Photographic distortion was found to be less pronounced from the higher altitudes.26

  Between August 1916 and the end of the following year, the RFC took a monthly average of some 8000 photos, while during 1918 that average had grown to around 20 000 a month. This allowed for a final selection of very high-quality prints to be chosen and distributed to all levels of the BEF. A vital prerequisite for all aerial photos taken throughout the war was the necessity for the pilot to maintain a continuous straight and level flight path so as to allow the observer to take the necessary number of overlapping photos. This procedure gave German anti-aircraft fire and planes a ready and consistent target, causing numerous losses of aircraft and crews.

  The second challenge was the need for adequate communication between planes involved in artillery spotting and their individual batteries. This was d
one by wireless telegraphy, which, because of the bulky nature of the equipment, allowed for Morse code from the aircraft to the ground but not the reverse. Prior to the Battle of the Somme such signalling was confined to one plane per 2000 yards of front, which prevented signals clashing. By the spring of 1917 superior equipment and organisation allowed for one plane per 1000 yards of front. By October 1916 wireless stations were deployed at each counter-battery site; five stations worked with each divisional field artillery group; a wireless station accompanied each Corps HQ; and a central wireless station operated at Corps HQ for the purpose of overseeing the progress and accuracy of all artillery shoots. For communication from the batteries to planes, white strips were laid out on the ground, while the infantry used flares, bright tin discs or white cloths.

  The third challenge entailed three types of low-level patrolling: prior to an attack patrols were detailed to reconnoitre enemy trenches; during an offensive operation, aircraft were required to track the progress and positions of an infantry advance and report this data back to rear HQ; and, after an attack, counter-attack patrols were deployed to report enemy infantry concentrations and to call in artillery fire upon them.

  Air superiority was the RFC’s fourth and most critical challenge. Its exhaustive photo reconnaissance and low-level patrolling of enemy trenches; its desire to protect its balloon observation; its ability to operate for prolonged, uninterrupted periods in artillery spotting; and, of key importance, its capacity to restrict similar German Air Force operations over Allied territory—all relied on a mastery of the skies over any required sector of the front. By December 1915 the Germans had gained air superiority by employing synchronised machine gun fire through the propeller of the famous Fokker E.I fighter. That German air dominance lasted until just prior to the BEF’s Somme offensive in 1916, when the British once again became dominant in the skies over France and Belgium. But by late 1916 and through to June 1917, the Germans once again achieved air dominance by the use of their new Albatros fighter. It was to be late 1917 before the British regained air superiority by the deployment of their new Bristol F.2b in great numbers. By the time of the Allied 100 days’ offensive in France, the British had a decided numerical and technological advantage over the German Air Force over the Somme. By then, the Germans were handicapped by shortages of supplies of rubber and metal.

  During the 100 days’ offensive in 1918, the newly constituted RAF (formed in April 1918) was to carry out all of its previously mentioned functions while enjoying decisive air superiority. Its numerous planes, refined structure and organisation would facilitate thorough and accurate reconnaissance, logistics and communications support, and strafing and bombing support for both the infantry and artillery.

  ***

  J M Bourne:

  Few groups in British history have been the subject of such vilification as the Western Front generals of the Great War. Their popular reputation remains thoroughly evil, unredeemed by 30 years of revisionalist [sic] scholarship. Their professional competence is ridiculed, their courage impugned, their lack of humanity decried . . . Attempts to defend the military high command are often met with incomprehension, sometimes rage, and even with tears. The Great War still touches a raw nerve.27

  Thus far, we have noted a number of key components of the ‘essential preliminary charcoal sketch’ of 1915–16, and then during 1917, the partial development of the ‘whole war-winning tableau’, which would come to its culmination in 1918. This learning curve, this painstaking acquisition of a successful doctrine in terms of the tactical deployment of men and matériel, provided an enormous—and totally unprecedented—challenge to the generals of the BEF.

  From the very beginning of that conflict until its end, the lack of fast, reliable and accurate communications remained the chief bane of commanders on both sides. And that frustration was magnified immensely when the static communications within a set perimeter were required to extend onto contested or captured ground. Therefore, after having spent considerable time in the planning and allocation of resources for an offensive, once it began, commanders often became detached from their battle’s ebbs and flows, and were thus thwarted in their ability to practise their art—at that very time when speedy and astute command decisions were required most. This limitation prejudiced the ability of commanders in the exploitation of a break-in in terms of location, strength and timing; in defensive operations it hampered, or at least often delayed, their ability to react and then reinforce a given location; and, in all this, it was a contributing cause to the horrendous casualties of the Great War.

  Despite the use of visual signalling, of intrepid messengers including pigeons and dogs as well as men, the gradual development of rockets, and contact patrol planes sounding their Klaxon horns and dropping signal canisters, the chief communications resource during the Great War was the cable. While new types of poles and trestles were employed for the effective carriage of lines behind the front, an intricate network of buried cable became the only means of relatively secure communications within it. Up to the Battle of the Somme, that cable had been buried at around two to three feet, but this had left it susceptible to German artillery damage, which then required a tedious and repetitive location of breaks, and then their repair. And when this system broke down, runners at the front and rearward-mounted messengers operated under obvious difficulties and sustained dreadful casualties.

  By mid-1916 it was found that cable had to be buried six feet beneath the surface to protect it from enemy shelling, which involved tremendous demands on labour—some seven miles of cable was eventually buried during the Battle of the Somme. Thus, on 1 July 1916, General Rawlinson had communications by phone with his five corps commanders, the HQ of the RFC, the cavalry, General Gough’s Reserve Army, and the French Sixth Army. In turn, his corps commanders could communicate with their infantry divisions, their heavy artillery, and their allotted RFC planes and balloons. But the difficulty of communicating quickly and reliably forward of that network remained an irritation to effective command, which was further compounded by the fact that the above-mentioned HQ were themselves retarded in their forward movement by their own cumbersome and rigid deep-buried cable system. Paddy Griffith, in Battle Tactics of the Western Front:

  The problem was relieved a little during the Somme fighting by the adoption of a standardised grid or checkerboard layout, whereby each division would have a central cable running from front to rear, with side-branches at the level of batteries, brigade HQs and division HQ, and armoured test-boxes at regular intervals. If the front line advanced, new side-branches would be added further forward while existing branches were taken over by rear echelons. If the division moved sideways, it would take over the cables originally laid out by its neighbouring formation.28

  In essential terms, this communications system remained in operation until the end of the war. Despite such innovations as training schools; a more structured formation of signals administered by the Royal Engineer Signals; an improved insulation of cables; the invention and use of the Fullerphone and the Power Buzzer (which transmitted signals through the earth); a growing prowess in terms of signals intelligence (eavesdropping on enemy communications); and, eventually, the growth of signals deception, the buried cable remained the main medium for communications. By 1918—with the pace of an advance still contingent upon the modest walking progress of the infantry and their often accompanying tank support—while the BEF’s communications grew in sophistication and coped with their challenges, their ongoing limitations partly help to explain ‘the generalised failure of any Great War attack to produce a decisive breakout’.29

  Given the continued restraints of this communications system, senior commanders were largely compelled to remain at or very near their HQ phone and cable facilities. This state of affairs has, in part, led to the stereotyped depiction of the Great War senior commander comfortably ensconced within his chateau HQ smoking his cigar, sipping his wine, and being almost oblivious to the sacrifice
and suffering of his troops. In an illuminating paper delivered at the Australian Army History Conference in 1998, J M Bourne provides us with compelling evidence to the contrary:

  During the war as a whole one corps commander . . . was wounded, seven divisional commanders were killed in action and three died of wounds . . . nine divisional commanders were wounded . . . 30 infantry brigade commanders were killed in action and eight died of wounds . . . 72 infantry brigade commanders were wounded . . . Some cháteaux [sic] were clearly built far too close to the front line.30

  The Battle of the Somme and the Third Battle of Ypres have come to represent the perceived incompetence and futility of the BEF’s senior command. They have been seen as responsible for slaughter and misery on a scale never dreamt of for little ground gained. Thus, by November 1917, if ‘the war was cutting into the heart of the nation, the battle of Passchendaele came near to breaking it . . .’31

  The chief legitimate criticism of Haig during this period is his continued determination to prolong his offensives in his desire for the ever-elusive break-out into mobile warfare after his sometimes-successful break-in of a German perimeter.

  Although the BEF’s cavalry was the only means of achieving this, it was, by the onset of trench warfare, a redundant weapon. If and when a potential breach appeared in the line, the moment was often lost due to the poor communications already described. There was also the sheer depth of the German defences, which were amply furnished with barbed wire, machine guns and concentrated artillery in depth. And the often extended, cratered, muddy terrain was hardly conducive to a massed, speedy charge into and then through an enemy perimeter. In short, as early as July 1915, an officer of the 18th Lancers summarised the plight of the cavalry that would last throughout the war: ‘Nobody knows how to use us or where. Indeed cavalry in this sort of war seems to be an anachronism.’32 It was a lesson Haig simply refused to grasp.