And it’s heading straight for you.
And you’ll see all the wonders of No Man’s Land
If a whizz-bang hits you.
Another song expressed with a strong dose of fatalism the exhaustion and cynical hopelessness of being under continuous artillery fire:
Bombed last night, and bombed the night before
Gonna get bombed tonight
If we never get bombed any more.
When we’re bombed, we’re as scared as we can be
Can’t stop the bombing sent from higher Germany.
Chorus: They’re over us, they’re over us,
One shell hole for the four of us,
Thank your lucky stars there are no more of us,
’Cos one of us can fill it all alone.
Gassed last night, and gassed the night before …
etc.
The traditional army marching song ‘The British Grenadiers’ was adapted for the following favourite. After four verses asking ‘If you want to find the Sergeant’, ‘the Quarter-bloke’, ‘the Sergeant-Major’ and ‘the CO’, the song ends with lines that were terribly poignant after the first day of the Somme:
If you want to find the old battalion,
I know where they are, I know where they are, I know where they are
If you want to find the old battalion, I know where they are,
They’re hanging on the old barbed wire,
I’ve seen ’em, I’ve seen ’em, hanging on the old barbed wire.
I’ve seen ’em, I’ve seen ’em, hanging on the old barbed wire.
What was different about the level of fear felt in the First World War from that experienced during most other conflicts, before and since, was that it was constant. Not only, in previous centuries, had battles been over in a day or so, but in later conflicts, like the Second World War, soldiers experienced extremes of fear for relatively short periods between long spells of utter boredom. But in the First World War, even behind the lines men were at risk of a stray shell, an attacking aircraft or a freak explosion. Charles Wilson described a man who, having survived a terrible time at the front, was resting in a wood near Poperinghe, miles from the line, enjoying the quiet of a summer evening when out of the blue a shell crashed through the forest and took his head off. In another story, Wilson told of the last of four brothers to survive. It was felt that his family had done its bit and so he was given safe jobs in the battalion that would keep him away from the front. He made himself useful around headquarters and became batman to the transport officer. One morning an individual enemy aircraft came over and dropped a single bomb. It hit the man and blew him to bits. Wilson concluded that the ‘wear and tear’ of the war was continuous and there was ‘no such thing as one moment’s complete security’.8
The First World War has often been called ‘an artillery war’.9 The vast majority of wounds came from shell fire, about 67 per cent in the British army and up to 76 per cent in the German.10 When at or near the front, men had to accept that at any moment they or the person standing next to them might be blown to pieces or terribly mutilated. A shell could maim or horribly disfigure a man. If it killed him, his remains were likely to be scattered over a wide area. There are countless reports from men who found legs, arms or other body parts suspended in trees or hanging from the parapet. And enduring the risk of this went on for days and days. Then, after a battalion had gone through its rotation with a week or ten days’ rest, the men had to go back up to the front and face the whole thing all over again. There is much evidence to show that the worst anxieties came on the evening before a battalion was to go back up the line to the front, when anticipation of the horror of the trenches would obviously be at its maximum. William Tyrrell remembered, ‘With the men [as against officers] the most fruitful period in the production of “shell shock” was (1) the height of battle, (2) the hour before going over the top (3) the evening before going back to the trenches after a rest period.’11
The trenches of course offered protection during an artillery bombardment. This was the reason they had been dug in the first place, to provide a hiding place from which troops could defend a line. But they amplified the psychological effect by preventing any possibility of ‘flight or fight’. Men simply had to cower down and endure. The lack of any option to escape from a trench during an artillery bombardment created a sense of powerlessness among front-line soldiers. They felt passive and were unable to evade the constant threat. One soldier wrote in his diary that infantrymen in a trench felt ‘caught like rats in a trap by such terrific shelling’.12 Wilson wrote that ‘To sit still under bombardment in the trench was more testing than to fight in the open.’13 An officer who suffered a breakdown while sheltering from shell fire in a trench told his MO that ‘Owing to the small area to which we were confined, there was no opportunity of being able to give vent to the pent-up feelings that were in me, and in consequence my nerves were strung up to such a pitch that I felt that something in me would snap.’14
Bernard Hart, a physician and specialist in mental diseases at University College Hospital, London, summed it up thus: ‘If I am standing in the road and a motor omnibus appears I immediately step out of the way.’ However, for the soldier in a trench, the instinct of self-preservation, to get out of the way of danger, was in conflict with what Hart described as ‘a group of forces compounded of self-respect, duty, discipline, patriotism, and so forth’ which he summarised simply as ‘duty’. The purpose of a soldier’s training was to instil in him such a powerful sense of ‘duty’ that it overcame his instinct for self-preservation. When a man was wounded, he could feel a sense of relief; he had done his duty but would be removed from the scene of danger. When he had to stay in the trench, the pressure that built could create what Hart called the ‘psychoneurosis’ otherwise known as shell shock.15
MOs observed that several episodes were especially likely to bring on a case of shell shock. One was being buried alive until being pulled out by colleagues, an extreme state of powerlessness. Arthur Hubbard had suffered this at Gommecourt. Even the fear of being buried alive was enough to turn some men during a bombardment. Another was the use of gas by the enemy, evoking a primitive fear that even the air one breathed could bring poisoning and death. On many occasions, the anxieties that produced shell shock were compared to a soldier’s primeval fear of gas poisoning the air around him. As we have heard, the MO of the 4th Black Watch, a tough and battle-hardened battalion, later recorded, ‘The very mention of gas would put the “wind up” the battalion at once … Gas was a potent cause of anxiety neurosis.’ But again the fear was that men might use gas as an opportunity to malinger. The same MO remembered when coming across gas victims that ‘some of the men were undoubtedly suffering from gas poisoning, but there were always a large number turned out that were not’.16 Many of them were suffering panic attacks. In fact a condition known as gas hysteria became a common feature among men on the Western Front and another contributory factor to shell shock. Both the fear of being buried alive and that of gas came from the sense of powerlessness that was felt to be a new and ghastly feature of modern industrial warfare.
Confronting the death of others was something every First World War soldier had to learn to cope with. There is barely a memoir or a diary that does not include some horror story of coming across a corpse. And of course every dead body was a reminder of one’s own mortality, often provoking a feeling of ‘there but for the grace of God go I’. Private Norman Gladden was in the 7th Battalion Northumberland Fusiliers, part of 50th Division, on the Somme and later recalled coming across the body of a soldier who had only just been killed by a shell. ‘The dead man lay amidst earth and broken timber. It seemed like sacrilege to step over him but there was no evading the issue. Never before had I seen a man who had just been killed. A glance was enough. His face and body were terribly gashed as though some terrific force had pressed him down, and blood flowed from a dozen fearful wounds. The smell of blood mixed with the fumes of
the shell filled me with nausea. Only a great effort saved my limbs from giving way beneath me. I could see from the sick grey faces of the file that these feelings were generally shared. A voice seemed to whisper with unchallengeable logic, “Why shouldn’t you be the next?”’17
One outcome of 1 July, however, was evident to all. As the awesome casualty lists started to come through in the following days, no one could deny the courage of the soldiers of the New Army. Stories began to circulate of individual deeds of heroism, as well as of collective acts of bravery and steadfastness in the face of the enemy. Officers and men might be lacking in tactical knowledge but they clearly had an abundance of determination. This attracted remarks at every level. Sir Henry Rawlinson wrote, ‘I cannot speak too highly of the spirit and self-sacrifice of our rank and file. The courage of the New Armies is magnificent, and if they had been able to devote more time to training, they would have been able to hold on to many points of importance which they captured from which they were driven by the enterprising German machine-gunners. We have shown the Boches that we can break their lines on a wide front.’18 Another regular soldier, Major-General William Furse, the commanding officer of the 9th (Scottish) Division, complimented the junior officers in the New Army by writing at the end of July: ‘considering the age of our Army, the marvel to me is that we find amongst those who escape the enemy’s shells, as many young fellows as we do who have knowledge, instinct and the character to do the right thing.’19
This sense that the citizen army had proved itself in its baptism of fire fundamentally affected thinking about the next major element of the offensive. In the first week of July, the Allies made advances along the southern section of the front at Fricourt, La Boisselle and elsewhere. Haig began to press Rawlinson to attack the German second line along the high ground between Bazentin-le-Petit and Longueval. Rawlinson, Congreve, commander of XIII Corps, who had sensed the possibility of a breakthrough on the afternoon of 1 July, and Horne, commander of XV Corps, came up with a radically different plan of assault. They proposed to attack at night after only a short barrage on a narrow front. Haig was initially opposed, thinking the risks of trying to assemble the men in the middle of the night were too great. But in consultation with the corps commanders he was persuaded it was possible and in accordance with his belief that field commanders should make local decisions he gave approval.
Rawlinson concentrated his artillery on a relatively short three and a half mile stretch of German trenches, and at 3.20 a.m. on 14 July the guns opened fire. After only five minutes the shelling lifted and the infantry from three divisions that had crawled out into No Man’s Land rushed forward. They achieved total surprise and by mid-morning had won all their objectives. Large numbers of Germans appeared to surrender willingly. British losses were light. It was one of the most successful assaults in the long Somme battle.
However, like most other assaults, the failure came in the follow-through. Rawlinson had the British and Indian cavalry waiting, but it took so long for them to struggle across the abandoned trenches and the shell-pocked landscape that by the time the 7th Dragoon Guards and the 20th Deccan Horse went forward in the evening the impetus had been lost. However, they still occupied the edge of High Wood and were able to look out over the wide valley behind the German lines towards Bapaume. This was one of the few occasions when cavalry were used successfully as a mobile force on the Western Front.20 But despite the drama of the advance, it took two months to complete the capture of the wood. Once again the Allies had missed the opportunity to seize a substantial amount of ground that would instead be fought over bitterly for the next few weeks. The great success of 14 July has been called a ‘tantalisingly incomplete victory’ and a ‘false dawn’.21 But it showed many of the doubters that the New Army could successfully adopt more sophisticated tactics. It also demonstrated that if the artillery were able to concentrate its fire on a limited front, then it really could open the way for the infantry, as the commanders had hoped in the seven days before 1 July.
However, those in command would somehow fail to remember these lessons. The Germans were stunned by the advance of 14 July but rushed in reinforcements. The next, long drawn-out phase of the battle was focused on the struggle to win control of a set of woods: Mametz Wood, High Wood, Trones Wood and Delville Wood. These were thick, tangled woods full mostly of oak and birch trees, with a heavy undergrowth of dense hazel thickets, intersected by grassy rides and scattered with ruined cottages all of which provided good cover. And the Germans defended them brilliantly. Each one became the site of a mini battle in itself. General Horne later concluded that ‘woods are very troublesome places’.22
The first to be attacked was Mametz Wood. Horne ordered the 38th (Welsh) Division to capture the wood, but its assaults failed. He ordered further attacks on the nights of 7–8 and 8–9 July but neither attack went ahead. Horne felt that the divisional commander, Major-General Ivor Philips, was failing to push hard enough. Philips was relieved of his command, becoming the third general to be degummed and sent home in disgrace in a week.
Over the next few days the 38th under its new commander succeeded in taking the wood. Visiting soon after its capture, Gerald Brenan described the scene: ‘After a little we came to Mametz Wood, which had been the scene of heavy fighting. Its trees were torn and shattered, its leaves had turned brown, and there was a shell hole every 3 yards. This was a place where something unheard of in this war had taken place – hand to hand fighting in the open with bombs and bayonets. What seemed extraordinary was that all the dead bodies there lay just as they had fallen, as though they were being kept as exhibits for a war museum. Germans in the field grey uniforms, British in their khaki, lying side by side, their faces and their hands a pale waxy green, the colour of a rare marble. Some of these figures still sat with their backs against a tree, and two of them stood locked together by their bayonets, which had pierced each other’s bodies; they were sustained in that position by the tree trunk against which they had fallen. I felt I was visiting a room in Madame Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors, for I could not imagine any of those corpses having ever been alive.’23
The ferocious fighting in these gloomy woods and the prolonged artillery duels they unleashed created the ideal conditions for shell shock. The Germans shelled the wood from three sides, firing up to 400 shells per minute at one point. It was in Delville Wood that Private Archibald Burgoyne watched his mates all around develop forms of shell shock, some severe, some apparently only temporary.24 On 18 July, Burgoyne and the South African Brigade cleared part of the wood. ‘The scream and hiss and whine of the shells was frightful. The reverberating explosions in the wood were deafening. Whiz-bangs seemed to just skim our trenches. Some actually struck the parapet and ricocheted into the bush with an unearthly shriek. I used to wonder at men getting shell shock. I don’t now … Men were going down everywhere. And there were no stretcher bearers left. The wounded had to lie where they fell, as men could not be spared to carry them away. Their cries were terrible – especially those with stomach wounds. Those who were able made the best of their way out of the wood – but very few were successful in reaching shelter … No one who was not present can possibly have any conception of the intensity of the barrage, or the devastating effect of the exploding shells. It was hellish. No wonder the men called it “Devil’s Wood” … Men ducked one shell and were hit by another. Men were buried by one shell and blown out again by the next … Another chap got Shell Shock and was quite dumb. In the afternoon the shell fire seemed to become more intense … Beck came running up and threw himself headlong on top of us … He frightened the life out of us. We hadn’t heard him coming. Of course we both opened out on him, but a look at his face stopped us. He was ashen and trembling like a leaf. He and Mathews were in an Observation Post in the open – outside the wood. They were unable to dig in and had endured all that terrific fire without shelter of any kind.’25
Shell shock could have unpredictable effects. Sometimes, rat
her than encourage a man to run and hide, it prompted the opposite, making him reckless and liable to take unnecessary risks. Burgoyne witnessed this when one of the most unreliable men in his company suddenly appeared. ‘Mathews came up as cool as a cucumber. Mathews – whom everyone had put down as a “lead-swinger” a “Wheezer” and whom Major Burges had that very morning denounced as a “shirker” before us all. He strolled up to the trench saying “Give us a match, Arch”. He lit a cigarette, corroborated Beck’s story quite calmly and with full details and strolled off again as though it was a Sunday afternoon in the Park. Hitherto he had funked everything in which there was the slightest hint of danger. He constantly complained of his heart and tried hard, but vainly, to get his “ticket” [to medical care in England]; and now here he was showing us all the perfect way to do it, in a perfect Hell of a place. There is nothing the matter with his heart. There is nothing the matter with Mathews. He had found himself. I have not seen him since. I hope he is safe.’
According to the Official History, the South African Brigade had ‘covered themselves with glory at Delville Wood’. They had ‘steadfastly endured the ordeal of the German bombardment which seldom slackened and never ceased … had faced with great courage and resolution repeated counter attacks’. The brigade had marched into the wood on 15 July with 121 officers and 3032 other ranks. When roll call was taken six days later, there were only 29 officers and 751 other ranks present.26 It was a dreadful price to pay for 150 acres of useless woodland.
Captain Bill was leading C Company of the 15th Battalion Royal Warwickshire Regiment, a Pals battalion also known as the 2nd Birmingham Pals, towards High Wood on the night of 22 July when he had an extraordinary escape. First, he had that ‘uncanny intuition which I think most front line troops developed that something unpleasant was coming my way and coming very quickly’. As he manoeuvred his men into a road ready to attack at dawn he heard an incoming shell. ‘I dropped to my hands and knees in a flash and as I landed a whizz-bang passed between my arms, underneath my body and burst as it struck the ground between my feet. A few inches higher or lower or to either side and this story had not been written. As it was, the back burst of the shell knocked me out, rolled me up into a ball and deposited me in the trench just in front. There I found that I had got it on the insides of both arms and both legs and one boot was half torn away, and later I counted sixty-one small wounds caused by the burning, but fortunately containing no metal. A lucky escape and as close an acquaintance with a bursting shell as one could have and still come through alive.’
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