by John Taylor
Our first wave of attackers drifts forward silhouetted against that pillar of fire and looking like so many marionettes worked on a string. We of the second wave must follow almost immediately. We must follow hard on the barrage and be on the enemy before he has recovered from the first shock of it.
A pause, hardly perceptible, and with marvellous precision the pillar of fire has “jumped” eighty yards ahead. I plunge forward from shell-hole to shell-hole towards that cauldron of fire, now through the fumes of burnt powder, cordite, steaming earth and falling clods, feeling uplifted with the very might our barrage, appalled at the awe-inspiring spectacle of it. How could any poor devil of a German live in it?
Yet I marvelled with every forward movement I made – ‘I am still unharmed, alive!’3
* * *
Five minutes after zero, divisional headquarters received a message from Major R.O.C. Ward: ‘All twelve tanks left starting point at zero, going well.’4 They were on their way, and now he could do nothing but wait and hope.
The tanks in the northern group made rapid progress along the road towards their objectives – the enemy positions at Bülow Farm, Vancouver and Springfield. Among them was D43 Delysia commanded by Lieutenant Enoch, its signed pin-up photograph of Alice Delysia in pride of place beside the driver’s seat.
Private Jason Addy described the journey: ‘When you’re enclosed in a tank and there’s so much racket, you don’t know whether it’s the shells hitting you or what you’re doing. The noise of the engine is tremendous, and we had to stand by with pyrenes [i.e. fire extinguishers] sometimes to get ready to shoot the engine if it got too hot. As we had two 20-gallon tanks of petrol in the rear, and all around the sides there was racks of ammunition, if you had a direct hit in a tank you hadn’t an earthly. Jerry was shelling back and you could feel the blast of the shells as you were looking through the gun slits …’5
The sensation of coming under fire in a tank was a disturbing one, but Second Lieutenant Horace Birks found it in some ways reassuring: ‘You started off cock-a-hoop until you started hearing these machine guns rattling on the outside and a sort of glow coming from the plate, you got less confident … One hated hearing these sort of red hot peas hitting on the outside of the tank … but shell bursts quite close, you didn’t feel any effect of them at all. I felt they rather boosted one’s morale … I think one felt fairly well protected … One felt very sorry for the infantry who were out in the open.’6
But Second Lieutenant Wilfred Bion of E Battalion found it more disconcerting when he went into action for the first time in the Salient – particularly in the silence before starting his engine:
The shelling was simply one continual roar. Your own guns sounded a sharp crack behind. You could, of course, distinguish nothing. You simply had the deep roar of the guns, which was continuous, and imposed on that was the shrill whistle of the shells passing overhead – just as if it was the wind whistling in a gigantic keyhole. One very big German shell that burst near us could be distinguished above the rest. It sounded like an express train coming through a tunnel – a gradually increasing roar as it came nearer. Then a deafening crash. As the nearer shells burst, the tank used to sway a little and shudder. This was very beastly, as one had previously felt that a tank was the sort of pinnacle of solidity. It seemed as if you were all alone in a huge passage with great doors slamming all around. I can think of no way of describing it.7
Along the front to be attacked on 22 August, the position furthest to the left was known to the British as Bülow Farm, presumably in reference to Field Marshal Karl von Bülow, who was widely held responsible for the Germans’ failure to take Paris in 1914.
This position was to be assaulted by 6th Bn Lincolnshire Regiment, supporting two tanks – one of which was D44 Dracula, whose name we last heard when it was abandoned and set ablaze by William Wakley and George Foot at the start of their three-day ordeal at Eaucourt l’Abbaye. The name, though not the tank, had risen from the grave, and its latest incarnation was commanded by Second Lieutenant Charles Symonds, in his first tank action.
The other crew attacking Bülow Farm was that of D41 Devil under Lieutenant Andrew Lawrie, who was just twenty-one years old and had been a medical student at Glasgow University before joining up. He had previously commanded a tank at the Battle of Bullecourt on 3 May 1917, when it was destroyed by five direct hits after being riddled by armour-piercing bullets which injured most of the crew, including himself.8 The driver of D41 had also fought at Bullecourt and won the Military Medal for his courage: this was Sergeant Joshua Weeks from Glamorgan in South Wales, who was the same age as Lieutenant Lawrie but had been working down the pits when he was only fifteen.9
Two hours after zero, the headquarters of 33rd Infantry Brigade received the message they had been praying for: ‘6.45 A.M. left [company] of Lincs. report to have gained objective including Bulow Fm. & to be consolidating.’ But soon afterwards came a bitter blow: ‘7.30 A.M. Tanks reported held up on Poelcapelle road a direct hit being scored by the artillery on the female tank Devil killing 2/Lt. Lawrie the commander and his Sergeant.’10
Half-an-hour later a message from the other tank, Dracula, confirmed both the good and bad news: ‘Symonds D44 wires our infantry digging in … Enemy infantry not in sight. Enemy artillery have disabled D41 (Lt. [Lawrie] and Sgt. Weeks killed). Tanks visible abandoned and blocking all round. My tank O.K. Ground bad.’11
Colonel Baker-Carr was determined that his tanks should take some credit for the success, and his report told how ‘the 2 told off for Bulow Farm … got sufficiently near to their objectives to bring fire to bear upon them … The second Tank fired several shots from 6 pdr., at Bulow Farm and the Infantry came up and captured it.’12
However, the Lincolnshires told a different story, and a message said that ‘infantry reached objectives long before tanks’.13 They reported that the two tanks had been held up on the road, and rather than wait for them, the infantry followed orders and advanced ‘close under the barrage’. As they approached Bülow Farm around fourteen Germans ran out, eight of whom were captured, though half of them were killed by their own artillery and snipers as they made their way back across No Man’s Land.14 This was also the version accepted by Fifth Army, whose summary of operations said ‘the 11th Division on the left … encountered little resistance, and took Bulow Farm … before tanks arrived.’15
The infantry supported their account with a more detailed description of what happened to the two tanks:
By zero Dracula, which was leading, had reached the junction of the St. Julien-Poelcappelle and Winnipeg-Langemarck roads, with Devil close behind. They advanced with the infantry, but on getting to within 150 yards of the track leaving Poelcappelle road for Bulow Farm …, found the road blocked by fallen trees and were unable to proceed any further. They were then about level with Vieilles Maisons upon which they opened fire for a short time [this was another blockhouse to the right]. They then came back towards home. During their homeward journey, a direct hit was observed on Devil … Nothing further was seen of the tank Dracula until the evening when it was located on the west side of the Poelcappelle road.16
Captain Edward Glanville Smith also described what had happened to his section: ‘Lieuts. Lawrie and Symonds reached Bulow Farm, but the former, together with his N.C.O., Sergt. Weeks, was killed almost immediately by an unlucky direct hit which completely disabled the tank.’17 Although Smith did not mention it, the surviving members of the crew then became locked in a desperate battle for survival.
Meanwhile, despite their early success against Bülow Farm, the Lincolnshires were now coming under severe pressure from their right flank, where the enemy were said to be ‘very active and aggressive’;18 this was because they were now approaching the main German defensive positions, having moved through the outpost line which was merely designed to disrupt their advance. As they struggled to consolidate, there was no suggestion that they received any support from Dracula, which eventually ret
urned to St Julien. Major Ward expected his tanks to fight with more aggression, and whatever he said to Second Lieutenant Symonds, the next time he went into action, things were to end very differently.
Despite the loss of a tank, the attack on Bülow Farm had at least produced the desired outcome. The key question now was whether the garrison of the Staigerhaus would also cut and run.
* * *
The two tank crews that were detailed to attack Vancouver, namely those of D42 Daphne and D43 Delysia, also formed part of the northern group which moved off at zero hour along the blasted road towards Poelcappelle. Their objective lay near the crossing with the Langemarck-Zonnebeke road, a spot now marked by the sombre and imposing memorial to the Canadian troops who had fought here more than a year before, topped by the carved head of a brooding soldier. There is nothing to recall the tanks that came this way, and no trace of the concrete bulk of the Staigerhaus which stood in the fields beyond.
The support of D Battalion was vital to the men of 6th Bn Gloucestershire Regiment, whose orders stated: ‘Tanks will take Vancouver which will be included in our line. If tanks do not arrive no infantry attack will be made on Vancouver.’19
The enemy did not flee immediately, but an update at 6.30 a.m. sounded promising: ‘6/Gloucs report within 50 yards of Springfield road on right … Tank dealing with Vancouver, which was still strongly held with machine guns. Tank however cannot leave the road.’20 An hour-and-a-half later, a message from Delysia also suggested the attack was still going well against Vancouver, which stood at the apex of a distinctive triangle of roads: ‘A. J. Enoch (D43) wires our infantry in strength on east side of Triangle. Enemy infantry seem to be a minus quantity … My tank going strong on east side of Triangle.’21
Therefore, the blow must have been all the greater when divisional headquarters learned just forty minutes later that the attack had broken down: ‘1/6th Glos now reports left company drove Boche from road, but right [company] not up and they were enfiladed and driven out. Tank engaged Vancouver from road but could not silence M.G’s. Left post report battalion on left retiring and right company commander reports 143 [Brigade, i.e. to the right] retiring.’22
To appreciate what was going on, we will have to leave the attacking tanks and infantry and make the hazardous journey across No Man’s Land towards the squat, battered bulk of the Staigerhaus. Ducking our heads we slip through a low entrance in the massive concrete walls, pass down a short corridor and find ourselves inside one of the cramped chambers of the bunker. At first we can see nothing in the dim interior, filled as it is with smoke from the rifles and machine guns, but after a while we can make out a number of helmeted figures, peering intently through the slits which provide the only source of light. These are the men of 3rd Battalion, 125th Infantry Regiment, and they are fighting for their lives. At first they remain frozen like statues, until someone gives a shout and the machine-gunner adjusts his aim and fires a burst, the noise reverberating inside the chamber with a brittle, ear-shattering din. Only when it dies away do we become aware of a constant rumbling in the background, like distant thunder, and we realise this is the ‘drum-fire’ of which the Germans often speak.
Suddenly there is a shattering impact as a shell drops close to the bunker: even through the tiny slit windows the shockwave makes us feel as if we have been punched on the nose and leaves our ears singing, and as we instinctively throw ourselves to the ground, we notice that the floor which had seemed so rock-solid is trembling like jelly. The officer shouts something we cannot understand, and there is some forced laughter from the men who remain crouched at their posts. But now we can think only of what would happen if the concrete roof were to come crashing down, crushing our limbs under its massive blocks, or burying us in the shattered ruins, alone and unable to escape. Now we would do anything to be out in the open, taking our chance against artillery and the elements, where we could at least breathe fresh air and see the sky, and be free from this fearful claustrophobia and choking smoke.
One of the men steps down, fumbling with his rifle, and we catch a glimpse of his face, which is gaunt and lined, with reddened eyes from the fumes and lack of sleep. We take the opportunity to creep up and peer cautiously through the slit window he has vacated. It is good to see the daylight and smell the cool air, but the view is limited and disappointing: a grey blur of horizon, a foreground of flooded shell craters, and no sign of life or movement anywhere. The prospect triggers a surge of panic: perhaps the attackers have already swept past on either side of our fortress, and are preparing even now to storm its walls with hand grenades and phosphorous bombs? Is it time to run, and if so, what are the chances of being able to surrender? Despite everything we have heard about the Battle of Passchendaele, for some reason we had not expected the reality to be so ugly and desperate. Then we recall the words of one British officer who described the German pillboxes ‘all smelling after capture of rotten eggs (phosgene), stale cigars, sweat and putredinous scatter of blood and brains and hair on bomb-pocked floors and walls’.23 Before we know it, we have ducked back out of the door and are stumbling across the muddy moonscape, panting with effort as we climb the lip of one crater and slide into the next while our feet turn into slippery balls of mud, until the Staigerhaus is swallowed up in the morass behind.
But the tiny garrison under Leutnant Dürr stood their ground, and the Lewis guns of Delysia were powerless to inflict any real damage on them unless the tanks left the road, which would inevitably lead to their ditching and destruction. The commander of 125th Infantry Regiment, Oberst Reinhold Stühmke, summarized the morning’s events:
Through accurate small arms and machine-gun fire using armour-piercing bullets, Leutnant Dürr succeeded in knocking out three tanks that were advancing against the Staigerhaus along the St Julien-Poelcappelle road, under cover of mist and gunsmoke, and were peppering us with cannon and machine-gun fire. The crew from one tank were wounded and it stayed put, another burst into flames, and the third turned tail …
Between 8 and 9 o’clock a second English attack began, after the Staigerhaus – which obviously caused the enemy a lot of problems – had been vigorously bombarded with large calibre shells, but they got nowhere. In front of the Staigerhaus the enemy formed up in ranks to right and left and started a double flanking manoeuvre. Two machine guns, which were brought into position with great courage, provided frontal support against the attempt to seize the flanks of the stoutly defended fortress. Fire from Dürr’s platoon radiated out on three sides. Musketier [i.e. Private] Fahrbach stood up and fired at will; anything that came into his sights was brought down. At 8.35 a.m. Leutnant Dürr reported: ‘Enemy trying to approach from the front, left and right, but forced to retreat every time by redeployment of my magnificent men. Crew of one machine gun already wiped out, packing up and heading back with only one man. Hurrah!’24
The outcome of the tank attack was summarized by the section commander, Captain Smith: ‘Lieuts. Enoch and Sherwood reached the area of their objective, Vancouver, only to find it impossible to cover the ground from the road to the concrete fort, and although they helped the infantry by bombarding it from the road, the place was bullet-proof in front and remained uncaptured.’25
Such was the ferocity of the fire directed at Delysia that shell splinters penetrated the tank’s steel hull.26 No-one suggested they could have done any more, but the infantry’s verdict was brief and resigned: ‘As before, the infantry were to wait until the tanks had captured the positions, but the operation failed, as the tanks could not leave the road to locate them.’27
* * *
As the crew of D43 Delysia headed back towards St Julien from their unsuccessful attack on Vancouver, they passed the wreckage of D41 Devil and were confronted by an extraordinary sight. In the words of Private Jason Addy:
Suddenly somebody shouted out: ‘There’s Jagger’, and on the side of the road – Jagger was the corporal that had been in the tank that had been knocked out with Lieutenant [Lawrie].
Unfortunately Lieutenant [Lawrie] had been killed and we could see that, as the tank was tipped off the roadside, we could see his arm sticking out of the gun slit and his hand all twisted. But Jagger was standing there on the roadside waving us to stop. We opened the door and he shouted to us: ‘I’ve got two wounded chaps here, can you take them back with you?’ He had four wounded actually, but we could only carry two so we pulled in these wounded chaps and laid them down on the floor on either side of the driver’s seat and left Jagger to look after the other two.28
The full story of Lance-Corporal Ernest Jagger’s heroism was recounted by another tank commander, Second Lieutenant Frank Mitchell, though he did not name the protagonists:
After managing to get into action at St. Julien, a tank was hit by a shell which crashed through the top, killing the officer and sergeant, and wounding three men severely. The senior man left was a lance-corporal, who immediately tackled the problem of getting the wounded back. Fearlessly he got out and, splashing through the mud, hailed another tank. By this time the enemy machine gunners had spotted him, and when he attempted to carry a wounded comrade to the safety of the second tank he was fired at heavily, but he stuck to his task and saw his patient safely on board. He could easily have climbed in as well, but tank men are taught never to desert their comrades. So back through the slush he trudged, the bullets whistling around his ears. With great difficulty he managed to pull the other two wounded from the battered derelict, and, after attending to their wounds, placed them gently in the driest shell hole he could find.
Now the next part of a tank crew’s duty is to assist the infantry by forming strong points with Lewis guns. The earnest lance-corporal was rather puzzled. His officer and sergeant were dead, and he could hardly form a strong point with two badly wounded men. Still he decided that he would do the next best thing, so he got into touch with the nearest infantry and handed over the Lewis guns to them. On returning, he could find no trace of his two wounded comrades. It was impossible for them to have even crawled away, and yet they had completely disappeared.