Haig and Robertson’s solution was simple. The attacking force should not be asked to show any initiative or to do anything tactically complex. When the barrage ended, on command, they should climb up wooden ladders out of the trenches and walk slowly, in straight lines, across No Man’s Land. Each man should be two or three yards from the men on his right and his left. This way, if one man should waver, the others would reassure him. The second wave should follow the first, 50 to 100 yards behind, the third behind this, with a fourth to follow. They should not run or charge at the enemy line as this might break their formation, but should walk forward at a steady pace. Both the German and French armies were experimenting with the use of storm troops to rush into the enemy lines within seconds of the barrage ending. But this was thought to be too difficult for the men of the New Army. Of course, some local commanders chose to vary this plan, while others, like General Poulteney at III Corps in the centre of the assault, kept to it rigidly. At a lower level, some brigade commanders told their men to crawl into No Man’s Land and to shelter in craters or sunken roads until the artillery ceased fire. They would then have less far to walk before reaching the enemy front line. But this was to be relatively rare.
On arriving at the German front line, the advancing infantry were told simply to jump into the enemy trench and, using bayonet, rifle or bombs, to flush out any traumatised survivors. They would then occupy the line and prepare to defend it from counter-attack, known as consolidating the line, waiting for the next unit to come up, leapfrog them and move on to the next objective. Fourth Army drew up a set of Tactical Orders specifically to make all this clear for inexperienced junior officers. Every company and battalion commander received a 31-page printed pamphlet outlining the spacing of the lines of attacking infantry, the number of waves (‘four or more’), the need for ‘a steady pace’ not a rushed advance, how to consolidate trenches, and so on. A great deal was left out, for example how to respond to machine gun fire and how units should react to delays or hold-ups among adjoining battalions. Nor was there any suggestion that where an initial attack had failed because of heavy resistance, further attacks should be called off or, better still, redirected to a point at which resistance was less fierce. The result, according to the Official History, was that the ‘plan of the battle was too rigid’ with a ‘uniform strength all along the front, although parts of it were obviously more difficult to deal with than others’.21 This rigidity was the consequence of the senior commanders’ belief that untrained troops could not be asked to show local initiative.
Moreover, each man was carrying a minimum of 66 lb (30 kg) of supplies. These were intended to last for up to two days, as resupplying men who had occupied the German lines was regarded as impossible in the first instance. Most men were therefore carrying a pack that included their personal kit, including a spare pair of socks, water bottles, a day’s rations, two gas masks, a field dressing, 220 rounds of spare ammunition, two hand grenades (known after their inventor as Mills bombs), and an entrenching tool. Some also carried bombs for trench mortars, extra shovels or spare barbed wire to defend the captured trenches. The men with this additional equipment might have been carrying up to 85–90 lb (approx. 40 kg). With all this on their backs while holding their rifles with bayonets fixed, it was thought that most men could do no more than walk forward slowly in line.
Of course, it would only be possible to walk steadily across No Man’s Land if the barbed wire had been destroyed, and the enemy strongpoints and machine gun nests totally pulverised. The five-day artillery barrage was eventually extended by heavy rain for two further days. Nearly 1,500 guns fired just over 1.6 million shells in this preliminary bombardment, ranging from trench mortars and 18-pounder field artillery pieces, through the 4.5-inch heavy guns right up to giant 15-inch howitzers. On average there was a gun every twenty-one yards along the entire front. They fired in continuous eighty-minute bursts on sections of the German line, then paused and after a couple of hours started up again on another section. For the first two days the gunners concentrated on destroying the barbed wire. Then they shelled the German lines and fortified strongpoints. Every night they fired on the communication lines to prevent supplies from being carried up. At times the shelling would pause and gas was released. Then the shelling would start up again. It was the heaviest bombardment carried out by British gunners so far in the war.22
There was complete confidence from the top down that the barrage would utterly destroy the German positions. At a conference of corps commanders, Rawlinson made it clear that ‘“nothing could exist at the conclusion of the bombardment in the area covered by it” and the infantry would only have to walk over and take possession.’23 Most of those who witnessed this tremendous, relentless shelling of the enemy front line believed that nothing could survive it. Captain Cuthbert Lawson was a forward observation officer with the 29th Division near Beaumont-Hamel. He wrote: ‘Armageddon has started today. I get a wonderful view from my observing station and in front of me and right and left there is nothing but bursting shells. It’s a weird sight, not a living soul or beast, but countless puffs of smoke, from the white fleecy ball of the field gun shrapnel, to the dense greasy pall of the heavy howitzer high explosive.’24
Charlie Campbell May, an engineer before the war, had been among the first to join one of the Manchester Pals battalions. At twenty-seven he was now a captain and a company commander in the 22nd Battalion Manchester Regiment. On 29 June, he expressed in his diary the confidence so many men felt: ‘We are all agog with expectancy, all quietly excited and strung to a pitch but unhesitatingly I record that our only anxiety is that we will do our job well. That is but natural. This is the greatest thing the battalion or any of us have ever been in.’25
In the last week of June, as the guns thundered, the roads behind the lines and the British communication trenches were packed with men moving slowly up towards the front. They were in good spirits, singing songs, cheering and waving every time they saw a camera. Divisional and brigade commanders came out to watch them pass by. One called out to a Leeds Pals battalion, ‘Good luck men. There is not a German left in their trenches, our guns have blown them all to Hell.’26
Many of those about to go over the top wrote letters home that were only to be sent if the writer did not survive. One of these was later published in the press as a tribute. The officer, writing to his parents, began: ‘I am about to take part in the biggest battle that has yet been fought in France, and one which ought to help to end the war very quickly. I never felt more confident or cheerful in my life before, and would not miss the attack for anything on earth. The men are in splendid form, and every officer and man is more happy and cheerful than I have ever seen them.’ He continued on a more philosophical level, ‘It is impossible to fear death out here when one is no longer an individual, but a member of a regiment and of an army. To be killed means nothing to me, and it is only you who suffer for it; you really pay the cost. I have been looking at the stars, and thinking what an immense distance they are away. What an insignificant thing the loss of, say, 40 years of life is compared with them!’ He concluded, as many did, by writing, ‘This letter is going to be posted if … Lots of love, From your loving son.’27
On the evening of 30 June, in his headquarters at Querrieux, Rawlinson surveyed the situation in a document that recorded his thoughts on the eve of battle. He noted that he was in command of 519,324 men and ‘the spirit of all ranks is splendid.’ He recorded that ‘The corps and divisional commanders are the best we have got … All know their job.’ He was pleased that the ‘artillery work done during the bombardment, and the wire cutting, has been well done’, and went on, ‘The Russians are on the move … The situation at Verdun is critical, and we cannot wait any longer if it is to be saved. So, the issues at stake in tomorrow’s battle are as great, if not greater, than in any which has been fought during the war. What the actual results will be no one can foretell, but I feel pretty confident of success myself, though w
e shall only get it after heavy fighting.’ The argument about whether the battle would lead to a breakthrough that could end the war, or would be just another stage in a long, continuing attritional conflict between nations, was resolved at least in Rawlinson’s mind, but he was ready for any outcome. He concluded his survey, ‘That the Boche will break, and that a debacle will supervene, I do not believe; but if that should take place I am quite ready to take full advantage of it.’28
A few miles away in Montreuil, at GHQ, Brigadier Charteris, Haig’s intelligence chief, also reflected on what would happen on the following day. ‘We do not expect any great advance, or any great place of arms to fall to us now. We are fighting primarily to wear down the German armies and the German nation … The casualty list will be long. Wars cannot be won without casualties. I hope the people at home realise this.’29
That evening, in his advanced headquarters at Chateau Valvion north of Albert, Haig wrote in his diary, ‘The weather report is favourable for tomorrow. With God’s help, I feel hopeful for tomorrow. The men are in splendid spirits: several have said they have never before been so instructed and informed of the nature of the operation before them. The wire has never been so well cut, nor the artillery preparation so thorough. I have seen personally all the Corps Commanders and one and all are full of confidence.’ In a separate letter to his wife, Dorothy, he spoke of his sense of divine mission: ‘I feel that everything possible for us to do to achieve success has been done. But whether or not we are successful lies in the Power above. But I do feel that in my plans I have been helped by a Power that is not my own. So I am easy in my mind and ready to do my best whatever happens tomorrow.’30
The Official History summed up the view felt by many. ‘No braver or more determined men ever faced an enemy than those … who went “over the top” on the 1st July 1916. Never before had the ranks of a British Army on the field of battle contained the finest of all classes of the nation in physique, brains and education. And they were volunteers not conscripts. If ever a decisive victory was to be won it was to be expected now.’31
Dawn came up on Saturday 1 July with a light mist. But as the sun rose higher it soon burned this away to leave a beautiful, clear, sunny summer day. Charlie May wrote a few words in his diary an hour or so after dawn that morning capturing the combination of optimism and anxiety that many must have felt. ‘It is a glorious morning and is now broad daylight. We go over in two hours time. It seems a long time to wait and I think, whatever happens, we shall all feel relieved once the line is launched. No Man’s Land is a tangled desert. Unless one could see it one cannot imagine what a terrible state of disorder it is in. Our gunnery has wrecked that and his front-line trenches all right. But we do not yet seem to have stopped his machine guns. These are pooping off all along our parapet as I write. I trust they will not claim too many of our lads before the day is over.’32
May was right to be concerned about the German machine gunners ‘pooping off’. All the commanders had got it wrong. The barbed wire had not been cut. The German trenches had not been smashed. After building up to a final crescendo all along the 18-mile front, the British barrage lifted. The gunners readjusted their ranges and, according to the artillery plan, began firing on the second German line over the ridge. Then, at exactly 7.30, officers blew whistles and led their men over the parapets. In the German lines the sentries sounded the alarm and men came scampering up from their deep dugouts to man the machine gun posts and line the fire step. The result was a massacre. Within a couple of hours the cream of Kitchener’s New Army were lying in No Man’s Land. The Pals battalions, quick in their forming but long in their training and so high in their hopes, were cut down in minutes. When the tallies were done and the numbers counted there had been 57,470 casualties, of whom 19,240 had been killed or would die of their wounds.33 It was the greatest loss ever sustained in a single day in the history of the British army. But this was not the end. It was just the beginning.
5
Epidemic
Gerald Brenan was an artillery observer in the 5th Battalion Gloucester Regiment, located opposite the village of Serre. In his observation post about a mile from the village, he watched events across No Man’s Land on the morning of 1 July through a telescope as men tried to advance up the slope towards the German lines. Like everyone else, he had been enormously impressed with the Allied artillery bombardment ‘that shook the air with its roar and sent up the earth on the German trenches in giant fountains. It seemed as if no human being could live through that.’ From a relatively safe distance, Brenan saw what happened next.
‘Our men climbed by short ladders onto the parapet and began to move forward, shoulder to shoulder, one line behind the other, across the rough ground. They went slowly because each of them carried a weight of 66 pounds. A moment later the German barrage fell on our trenches, and their machine guns began to rattle furiously. Clouds of blue and gray [sic] smoke from the bursting shells, mingling with a light ground mist, hid the general view, but through the gaps I could see the little antlike figures, some of them keeping on, others falling, creeping, writhing, lying still … But as the hours passed, I could not see that any of them had reached the German support line, and later I knew why: the Boche machine gunners had come out of their deep dugouts and were mowing them down.’
To Brenan it was clear that after the slaughter caused by the German machine gunners, it was the artillery that had created mayhem in the British ranks. ‘All this time the barrage that had fallen on our shallow assault trenches had continued and was churning up the earth all around … Slowly the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, and the heat of that scorching day grew and grew; but I could detect no movement on the slope in front of me except that here and there a wounded man could be seen creeping toward a shell hole. It became clear that our attack had failed … The pick of our young men, the first to volunteer for the war, were dead and on our corps front not a yard had been gained.’1
What had gone wrong? The artillery that had so impressed everyone had not been as effective as it appeared. A storm of steel had been fired at the wire and the German lines, but the British artillery was desperately lacking in heavy guns and the damage caused by the 18-pounder field artillery was far less severe than it looked. Furthermore, even the placement of a gun every few yards along the front did not achieve the concentrated fire that the commanders had intended. The shell fire was actually less intense than had been available along the shorter front at Loos. And there had been little counter-battery work, no real attempt to knock out the German artillery. Everything had been concentrated on destroying the wire and smashing the German trenches. The German batteries were able to return fire and were already ranged and sighted, in case of an attack, to shell No Man’s Land and the assembly trenches. As soon as the Allied barrage lifted, the German guns, almost untouched, opened fire on the British assault, as Brenan witnessed.
Nor had the barbed wire been cut. To do this with artillery involved the use of high explosive (HE) shells, which exploded into a number of sharp-edged fragments. The French used this type of shell and had been successful in destroying the wire in front of their lines. However, the British artillery was short of HE so, instead, used shrapnel shells which exploded shattering hundreds of small round metal pellets into the vicinity. These were far less effective in cutting through barbed wire that in places was twelve belts thick. Officers looking out through periscopes from the front trenches could see that the wire had not been cut. According to Charles Howard of 93rd Brigade, not far from Serre, his corps commander had told the men that the wire was blown away and the troops could walk straight to the German lines, but ‘we could see it standing strong and well’. Second Lieutenant Ian Grant of the 46th Division also reported that the artillery had failed to cut the wire as they ‘were not competent to do it properly’, and that as a consequence wire-cutting patrols had been sent out into No Man’s Land.2 But because they did not meet expectations, these reports were simply not bel
ieved higher up the command chain. Only optimistic reports were allowed to filter up the system. The higher up the command ladder one stood, the less realistic was one’s understanding of the effectiveness of the bombardment.
There were also many defects in the shells fired. The expansion of Britain’s munitions factories had been dramatic but quality control was still poor. The army of newly trained workers were working long hours, but too few of them were skilled and flaws were slipping through. The fuses of the 9.2-inch howitzer shells regularly fell out in flight and the battlefield was littered with dud shells which had landed and failed to explode. Minute fractures in the steel casing of some of the shells led to premature explosions, that is the shell would explode soon after leaving the barrel of the gun, which was very dangerous to the gunners. The 4.5-inch howitzer batteries suffered from so many ‘prematures’ that at one point they were known as ‘suicide clubs’. The high explosive chemicals in some of the shells oozed out through their casings in the hot weather.3 It was later estimated that somewhere between 25 and 30 per cent of shells failed to explode properly.4
The German trenches had certainly sustained damage, but the vast numbers of troops had sheltered safely in their deep dugouts, undamaged by shrapnel and secure against everything but a direct hit from one of the biggest shells. Trench raids had revealed the depth and sophistication of the dugouts but somehow this, also, had not been registered. On 5 June, troops of the 29th Division carrying out a raid had discovered deep dugouts between the German front line and the support line, with tunnels opening into both. General Rawlinson had been informed and had expressed his concern but had done nothing. In the days before the attack, according to a report based on the interrogation of German prisoners, ‘the dugouts are still good. The men appear to remain in these dugouts all the time and are completely sheltered.’5 Again, nothing had been done in response.
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