Pozieres

by Scott Bennett

  Despite the complexities, the transfer south was achieved without major incident. By 14 July, the three divisions were concentrated west of the Amiens–Doullens Road. The Anzacs immediately noticed that the French countryside was untouched by the war, and the weather was much more pleasant than in Armentières. The soldiers soaked up the warm sun, blue skies, and long hours of summer sunlight. The heat reminded them of Australia, but the land looked different: vast, rolling fields of green crops and freshly cut hay, not the brown, sunburnt expanse they were used to. ‘This country is looking lovely now,’ wrote Queenslander Sergeant Philip Browne. ‘I often think that it is a perfect pity that all this grass that nothing eats couldn’t be grown in Australia.’27

  ‘The weather was warm and beautiful, all that could be desired,’ recalled 37-year-old Collins Street tailor Corporal Arthur Thomas. ‘The sight of our column winding its way through the undulating roads of France was awe inspiring.’28

  Each division then marched eastward on its own separate route through different villages, many of which acted as staging locations, toward the battlefront. French liaison officer and sketch artist Paul Maze thought the columns of marching Australians presented a magnificent and cheerful sight. ‘They passed swaying under their heavy haversacks and singing tunes,’ he recorded in his auto-biography, A Frenchman in Khaki. ‘Battalion after battalion went by, impressing me with the fine physique of the men, all tanned by the Gallipoli sun.’29

  Even though the columns of passing troops presented an impressive sight to observers, it was a taxing affair marching from one staging village to the next, day after day, under a blazing sun, in woollen khaki uniforms with full packs. The swaying poplar trees that lined the roads provided little shade, and by midday the soldiers’ shirts and tunics were soaked through with sweat. According to the 4th Brigade Diary, the soldiers’ feet, softened after months of inactivity and unaccustomed to the hard roads, became sore and blistered inside their English pattern boots.30 By late afternoon, only the rhythm of their trampling feet maintained their forward momentum.31

  The 1st Division marched eastward through to the village of Vignacourt while the 4th Division, one stage further back, passed through Domart and Berteaucourt. The 2nd Division marched through Amiens, the largest city on the Somme river. Conquering and vanquished armies had congregated around this ‘little Paris’ for over 2000 years — tribal Gauls had claimed it well before Christ was born, only to be kicked out by Julius Caesar and his Roman legions; William the Conqueror had assembled his invasion fleet nearby; and Henry V’s army had passed close by before the Battle of Agincourt. The Anzacs, from isolated farms, small country towns, and burgeoning cities barely a century old, were awestruck by Amiens’s magnificent gothic cathedral, built in the 13th century and reputed to house the severed head of John the Baptist.

  Amiens seemed unaffected by the war. ‘There was plenty of life stirring as we came to it and we were received with waves and smiles from the majority,’ wrote Private Alfred Morrison.32 But beneath the façade lurked the insidious signs of war: ‘There were no young men, only old men and women and children and many widows and orphans,’ recorded Albert Coates.33 The officers discovered the reason for this absence whenever they sought billets from the French: ‘Room, monsieur — yes, there is the room of my son who was killed at Argonne — of my husband who was killed at Verdun.’ 34

  The Anzacs would soon be embroiled in the battle that might decide the greatest war of civilisation. Did this proposition excite them or, after the gruelling experience on Gallipoli, sicken them? News of the ‘Big Push’ along the Somme had been rippling through the corps since 1 July. Iven Mackay remembered soldiers asking: ‘Are the Australians going to be given their chance at last?’35 Captain John Harris, a schoolmaster at the Church of England Grammar School nestled in Sydney’s beautiful north shore, recorded that there were few men who did not experience a sense of relief when the colonel announced to a full meeting: ‘Gentlemen our period of training is over.’36 While the soldiers had not been told why they were going south, most had guessed and were anxious, according to Geoffrey Drake-Brockman, to ‘live up to the reputation established at Anzac’.37

  The positive news coming from the other fronts buoyed the Anzacs. ‘We have heard great yarns these last few days,’ wrote Irish-born Gallipoli veteran Private Joe McSparron, ‘about the crown prince being surrounded at Verdun and also about the Russians taking a lot of prisoners.’38 The Anzacs passed British divisions who had been relieved from the front. ‘They have been very successful and are all singing as they march along, every man wearing a German helmet,’ recorded Corporal Apcar de Vine in his diary.39

  The Anzacs were ‘spoiling for action’, as Harris put it, and hoped to emulate their feats. ‘I hope the good old 5th leads the way,’ wrote McSparron. ‘A good many of them are seasoned warriors now as many of them have been in action at Gallipoli.’40

  Charles Bean compared the feeling throughout the corps to that of a new boy joining a great school. One soldier broke down and wept when he sprained his ankle, realising that he wouldn’t be continuing on to the Somme.41

  Haig sensed the Anzacs’ purposeful mood, writing in his diary: ‘The men were looking splendid, fine physique, very hard and determined-looking. The Australians are mad keen to kill Germans and to start doing it at once!’ Despite this eagerness, Haig counselled one brigadier to start quietly, ‘because so many unfortunate occurrences had happened through being in too great a hurry to win this campaign!’ He later confided in a letter to King George V that the Anzacs were undoubtedly a fine body of men, ‘but their officers and leaders as a whole have a great deal to learn’.42

  Mackay shared Haig’s concerns. He believed that the Australians were seriously underprepared for the offensive. The instructors who had conducted their training had never occupied a fighting trench. In addition, soldiers were often diverted from critical training to perform mundane tasks such as digging trenches and shifting supplies.43 The corps was badly short of periscopes and sniper scopes, and lacked magazines for the Lewis guns.

  Even the Anzacs’ Gallipoli experience offered little of value in terms of preparing for the Western Front. They were proud of their well-organised Gallipoli evacuation, but every general knew that battles weren’t won by skilful withdrawals. The recent flood of raw recruits had diluted the core of experienced Gallipoli veterans. There was a chronic shortage of trained officers, so crotchety veterans of bygone wars had to be promoted to fill the vacancies.44

  The troops were blissfully ignorant of what lay in store for them. Not even the most hardened Gallipoli veteran had experienced the volume of artillery and machine-gun fire that was decimating the British on the Somme. Instead, they talked excitedly of charging the Germans as if they were marching off to a 19th-century battle of sword and musket.

  On 17 July, I Anzac Corps was notified that it had been allocated to General Sir Hubert Gough’s Reserve Army, which was responsible for exploiting any breach made by General Sir Henry Rawlinson’s Fourth Army. The following day, the corps was notified that its 1st Australian Division had been placed under the direct orders of the Reserve Army for special operations.45

  That morning, the 1st Division commander, Major-General Harold ‘Hooky’ Walker — a diminutive man with receding red hair flecked with grey — was summoned to Gough’s headquarters in Albert. ‘I want you to go into the line and attack Pozières tomorrow night,’ Gough told him.46

  It was an astounding request, given that Birdie and I Anzac Corps staff had not yet arrived at their headquarters in the village of Contay and taken control of their sector. Gough had bypassed Birdie and put his orders to his subordinate.

  Hooky, an astute officer, would have realised that attacking immediately would not have provided any time for reconnaissance. Although unafraid to question his commanders — he had clashed with Birdie over the plans for the Lone Pine attack on Gallipoli, whi
ch had resulted in many casualties for limited tactical gain — this order came from an army commander with two years’ experience on the Western Front. Hooky would have been hesitant to question Gough’s order to attack, and for good reason. Gough, after all, was the British army’s rising star. His distinguished Irish family had military values coursing through its veins. His father, uncle, and younger brother had all won the British Empire’s highest award for valour, the Victoria Cross. At 36, Gough had become the army’s youngest ever lieutenant-general, and by the relatively young age of 46 he had commanded an army. According to Gary Sheffield and Dan Todman’s study of Gough, he was considered a brilliant cavalryman with an optimistic spirit who partly owed his rapid rise through the ranks to Haig’s patronage.47 Clearly, the brilliant and well-connected Gough was not someone with whom to trifle.

  Gough’s insistence upon an immediate attack was based on orders received from his superior, Haig, who had instructed him to carry out methodical operations against Pozières with a view to capturing it with as little delay as possible. The word ‘methodical’ suggests taking the time required to prepare properly, but Gough believed that the Germans had to be kept off balance and that any breakthrough had to be exploited quickly. They could not allow the Germans to get their breath back, he reasoned.48 He must have also understood that as the battle progressed and casualties mounted, nervous politicians would begin to pressure Haig to wind it down. Gough, given his nature, would focus on the words ‘without delay’ and in doing so would put Australian lives at unnecessary risk.

  Why was Haig so intent upon capturing Pozières with as little delay as possible? On 1 July, Thiepval, the fortified village that sat on the same prominent ridge as Pozières but was 2000 yards to the north, had been a key objective. Although Rawlinson’s Fourth Army troops had pushed either side of Thiepval, repeated frontal attacks had been unable to capture it. Rawlinson’s troops did, however, make inroads south of Pozières. Rawlinson understood that if he captured Pozières he could, firstly, extend his hemmed-in northern flank and, secondly, attack Thiepval from the rear and, he hoped, capture it with fewer casualties. For this reason, Rawlinson told Haig on 13 July that ‘Pozières was the key of the area’.49 Haig, on considering the situation, had allocated I Anzac Corps to Gough’s Reserve Army to capture the village and, in doing so, hopefully prise ajar the back door to Thiepval.

  According to Bean’s account, Hooky initially argued against the premature attack but then complied with Gough’s order.50 Perhaps Hooky was aware of the abrasive Gough’s reputation for dealing ruthlessly with officers who lacked an offensive spirit. He probably also suspected that Birdie, always keen to avoid conflict and protect his own career, would not support him.

  Hooky was a British regular soldier and had been with the Australians since Gallipoli. He’d originally been Birdie’s chief-of-staff, but had swapped the job for brigade commands on Gallipoli, and then divisional command of the Australians. According to Charles Bean, Hooky, who enjoyed the finer things in life and spoke with a refined British accent, came to believe in and love his men. In turn, the Anzacs liked him. ‘He was a good and friendly soldier,’ remembered Drake-Brockman.51 Hooky told Bean that he wouldn’t change his command of the Australians for the world. Bean, in turn, believed ‘Little Walker’ was a man to whom the Anzacs ‘owed something’.52

  Hooky’s work ethic and eye for detail were renowned throughout the division. A tireless worker, he often discussed pressing matters with officers at his headquarters late at night, between bouts of sleep and sometimes dressed only in his underwear. ‘He did not look like a general,’ Drake-Brockman recalled upon seeing him late one night stripped to a singlet and long woolly underpants, although he soon discovered that his instructions were ‘lucid and to the point’.53 So sharp was Hooky’s memory for detail that, before arriving on the Somme, he had admonished his officers for being careless with government-issued boots, claiming accurately that of the 11,000 pairs supplied to the division, exactly 564 pairs had been abandoned.54

  After failing to change Gough’s mind, Hooky sent his meticulous chief-of-staff, 32-year-old Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Blamey, to discuss the challenges of Pozières with the British units that had already attacked it. Two issues became clear. First, the distance between the British and German trenches was 600 yards, which would expose his advancing soldiers to prolonged and murderous artillery and machine-gun fire. Jumping-off trenches had to be dug closer to the Germans, and this would take time. Second, the attack’s success depended on the division’s artillery support, which would also take time to organise. Hooky was resigned to being pushed into an ill-prepared operation.55

  Under pressure, Hooky continued preparations, but in the midst of these, on 19 July, Gough made a surprising about-face. Some of his staff saw the sense in delaying the attack and warned Birdie and White, who as yet had no responsibility on the battlefield, of the impending drama. Birdie, understandably keen to avoid the spate, sent White to argue the case for a delay. Gough relented, agreeing to postpone the attack until the night of 21 July.56 Another delay of 24 hours was agreed to on 21 July itself, when White discovered that the planned artillery barrage hastily drawn up by three different ‘staffs’ (those of the Reserve Army, X British Corps, and the 1st Australian Division) would fall across the attacking troops.57

  Hooky developed a simple plan to capture Pozières. He would attack from the south side of the Bapaume road on the moonless night of Sunday 23 July, just after midnight. The first objective was Pozières Trench, which protected the village; the second, the light railway that sat in front of the hedges on the outskirts of Pozières; the third, the portion of Pozières village south of the Bapaume road. If all three objectives were captured, the Australians would control one side of the village and, he hoped, the 48th British Division attacking north of the road the other side.

  The 1st and 3rd brigades of the 1st Australian Infantry Division would mount the attack. Brigadier-General Nevill Smyth, a 58-year-old British officer, first cousin of the famous Robert Baden-Powell and winner of a Victoria Cross at Khartoum, commanded the 1st Brigade, comprising soldiers from New South Wales. Smyth had earned the nickname ‘Sphinx’ while in Egypt because of his quiet but determined demeanour. His brigade would attack the left-hand section of Pozières Trench. Brigadier-General Ewen Sinclair-MacLagan, a 57-year-old Scotsman with a booming voice, commanded the 3rd Brigade. His hard doers from the frontier states of Western Australia, South Australia, Tasmania, and Queensland had the tougher job — attacking the right-hand section of Pozières Trench, which intersected with the old German (OG) trench lines and would expose them to both frontal and flanking machine-gun fire.

  Brigadier-General John Forsyth, a Brisbane-born son of a builder, commanded the Victorian 2nd Brigade. It would act as a reserve, carrying up ammunition, rations, and water to the other brigades. Forsyth, 49 years old, the least experienced of the three brigade commanders and the only native Australian, was a quiet, sensitive man, known affectionately to his men as ‘Dad’.58

  Would these men be competent leaders in battle? Birdie expressed confidence in the leadership of the British commanders, Sinclair-MacLagan and Smyth, but had reservations about Forsyth, which he had outlined in a letter to the minister for defence in late 1915: ‘[He] strikes me as having not fully risen to the occasion and has always given me the impression that the command [brigade] is just a bit too big for him.’59

  Was Birdie’s judgement sound, or did he display a bias toward British professional officers commanding Australian units? The Australian government, which desired the appointment of Australian officers whenever possible, had previously queried Birdie’s recom-mendation to appoint British officers to divisional commands when the Australian Imperial Force reorganised in Egypt, reasoning that the Gallipoli campaign must have unearthed quality Australian candidates.60 Eric Andrews, in his book on Anglo–Australian relations, The Anzac Illusion, wrote that Birdi
e did seem reluctant to appoint Australians in that instance. Under government pressure, Birdie reviewed his appointments, but nevertheless remained somewhat uncomfortable with colonial Australians holding key commands.61 For instance, while he expressed ‘complete confidence’ in Hooky Walker as a divisional commander, he did not have ‘anywhere near the same confidence’ in the Australian, Major-General James Gordon Legge, who commanded the 2nd Australian Division. Nationalist and imperialist leanings had subsequently formed among Anzac officers, with each faction harbouring differing views on who was best suited to fill key commands.62 What no faction seemed to question was the leadership skills of Hooky Walker, who continued his preparations to capture a village that no Anzac had heard of a week earlier.

  What was known about Pozières, a village that correspondent John Masefield described as having ‘no interest and no importance’ to anyone before the war?63