Deborah and the War of the Tanks

by John Taylor

  It was already obvious that the coming operation would be unlike anything they had seen before, but such was the level of secrecy that junior officers like James Macintosh and Frank Heap were told next to nothing. All they knew was they would spend the next two weeks at Wailly in intensive training, and would carry out a series of practice tank attacks in company and even battalion strength. After the previous piecemeal operations, this was a revelation in itself: ‘Now we had our first inkling of attacks by tanks in mass with battalions as units, and to think that this was possible raised hopes all round.’2

  The training at Wailly was necessary to refresh basic driving and tactical skills that had been forgotten in the Salient, where leaving the roads and moving across open country to attack a trench system was out of the question. For relatively new arrivals like Frank Heap, the next two weeks were a precious opportunity to get to know their machines, their crews, and their own capabilities in command.

  Surprises came thick and fast, and the crews now learned they would go into action carrying an entirely new piece of equipment called a fascine. This was a massive bundle of brushwood weighing one-and-a-half tons, which was perched on the nose of the tank and secured by chains until released by pulling a lever, at which point it would roll forward into the enemy’s trench to provide a kind of stepping-stone so the tank could get across. This was essential because the trenches they were to attack were known to be enormously wide, having been deliberately constructed by the Germans as anti-tank obstacles. There was a good deal of scepticism about this Heath Robinson device, but in the meantime there were many other concerns to occupy them.

  The commanders and crews still had no idea where or when the attack would take place, but after a few days the veil of secrecy was lifted a little. Macintosh recalled the briefing given to No. 12 Company by their commander, Major R.O.C. Ward:

  An attack was shortly to be made on a certain sector; an attack in which tanks would play a very important part. Extreme secrecy was essential to success; given that secrecy, success of an unusual brilliance was, humanly speaking, inevitable (we do not quote the Major’s own words, which were more after this fashion: ‘Damme, keep your mouths shut and it’s an absolute sitter.’) That very afternoon would be held the first of two practice attacks with the infantry who would cooperate with them in the real thing.

  Now that the subject was no longer taboo, there was a lot of excited speculation as to where the attack would be made, and what it portended. That it was no minor show was clear from the number of battalions who would take part, also from the name of the division with whom [No. 12] Company was to co-operate. The prospect of an attack is not invariably a cause for congratulation, but, in this case, the battalion had so long been out of action, and their last show had been so full of difficulties and disappointments, that officers and men alike were delighted at the prospect of ‘getting Jerry on the hop.’3

  Like everyone else, Macintosh was impressed to discover which division they would be working with. Its identity was revealed in a suitably theatrical manner to Second Lieutenant Wilfred Bion of E Battalion as he waited at Wailly with his friend, Second Lieutenant Ernest Quainton, and their company commander, the bibulous and well-bred Major Christian de Falbe. Bion described the scene:

  This morning [de Falbe] was present, jolly, rubicund, at peace with himself and the world. The fresh November morning seemed an incongruous setting for him. Yet he had a Bacchus-like quality. He exuded an aroma of old port which civilized the rude rusticity of the scene, pervaded it rather than subdued it.

  ‘Hullo Quainton dear boy’, he said affectionately, like the Duchess when she met Alice … ‘Do I hear something?’ His eyes twinkled.

  ‘Sounds like bagpipes to me sir.’

  ‘It is bagpipes’, he said archly, putting his finger to his lips. ‘Listen!’

  It was faint but clear, the skirl of pipes coming nearer. Over the crest there presently appeared the first files of marching men, battalion after battalion of kilted troops.

  We watched the rhythmical sway of the kilts as the battalions went by. Nothing was said, for we all knew who they were. In that war the 51st Division, Highland Territorials, had won a reputation second only to the Guards …

  We had already learned in our very slight and brief experience that our lives depended on the stout hearts of the infantry who were in action with us … We watched in silent relief … The 51st Division? Someone meant business – at last!4

  Major William Watson of No. 11 Company, returning from leave in England to find the training in full swing, also described his ‘great joy’ at finding they would be fighting alongside the Highlanders. ‘The apathy and bitter disappointment, caused by our misfortunes on the Poelcapelle Road, had disappeared completely, and the company, scenting a big mysterious battle, was as eager and energetic as if it had just disembarked in France. For once the secret was well kept. The air was full of rumours, but my officers knew nothing.’5 Like R.O.C. Ward, Watson was allowed to visit the scene of the coming attack and the conclusion was summed by his reconnaissance officer, Second Lieutenant Frederick ‘Jumbo’ King: ‘Unless the Boche catches on before the show, it’s a gift!’6

  The infantry had already carried out a number of practice attacks on their own training area, though these had the usual air of unreality. Trench-lines were marked out by coloured flags, and the orders said that: ‘All three lines will be heavily wired (imaginary) … Tanks will be represented by limbers.’ However, there was also an important clue as to the conduct of the coming attack: ‘The infantry will be preceded by a screen of tanks, which to the infantry will take the place of the artillery barrage.’7

  This came as a bolt from the blue, because in the fighting on the Western Front a prolonged artillery bombardment was essential to blast a way through the enemy’s barbed wire and destroy his machine guns before the infantry went in. There were many downsides to this approach, apart from the enormous cost of the shells. Firstly, a barrage lasting several days gave the enemy plenty of warning of an attack, and time to bring up reserves. Secondly, the ground was left so churned up that progress was difficult for the infantry, and impossible for cavalry or tanks. Thirdly, and most damningly, all the evidence was that it did not work, since the Germans had proved themselves adept at constructing underground defensive systems that enabled them to survive even the heaviest barrage, and were increasingly adopting a doctrine of ‘defence in depth’ which was less vulnerable to a bombardment of this kind. It was clear that another approach was needed, but much less clear whether tanks really were the answer. If not, it was the unprotected infantry, as well as the tank crews, who would pay the price.

  Years later, Colonel Baker-Carr of 1st Tank Brigade claimed that the commander of 51st Division, Major-General George Harper, was never convinced by this approach: ‘“Uncle” Harper plainly demonstrated by his attitude that he thoroughly mistrusted the entire plan … he took me on one side and described the whole conception as “a fantastic and most unmilitary scheme.” Up to the very last moment he was completely lukewarm and, as I learned years later, had not hesitated to communicate his apprehensions to his brigade commanders.’8

  Reflecting this scepticism, Harper was said to have devised his own attacking formations and tactics which were intended to protect the infantry by keeping them back from the tanks, with potentially disastrous results for the operation. This is a complex question which we will examine in due course, but for now we should note that tanks were notorious for drawing the enemy’s fire, and if the infantry followed too close behind then they would be mown down and the attack would inevitably fail.

  The optimal distance between tanks and the following infantry was the subject of ongoing debate. A training note from Third Army in late October merely said the leading infantry should be ‘immediately behind’ the tanks, and roughly 25–50 yards behind when they entered the wire.9 However, on 11 November Lieutenant-Colonel John Fuller of the Tank Corps issued unequivocal guidance: ‘When
advancing behind tanks infantry should maintain 100 yards distance.’10

  The headquarters of 51st Division gave more flexibility to those on the ground, but their overriding concern was that the infantry should stay in contact with the tanks at all times. Their instructions specified that infantry should cross No Man’s Land in wave formation, in other words in extended lines at right-angles to the tanks’ direction of advance, to minimize potential losses from enemy machine guns. They stated: ‘The infantry following the tanks must not be involved [in] the hostile fire on the tanks. The distance at which they should follow the tanks cannot be laid down. It should not [be] less than 100 yards, and must be within signalling distance with the tanks.’ The final point was stressed: ‘The actual distance will be governed by the necessity for each platoon to keep touch with, and not lose sight of, its respective section of tanks.’11 In case anyone was still in doubt, the instructions reiterated that ‘in order to afford every chance of success to the operation, tank personnel and infantry must work constantly together and must understand thoroughly each other’s methods.’12

  When Colonel Baker-Carr issued his orders for the attack, these specified that the tanks ‘will precede the infantry employed against 2nd objective by at least 100 yards’13 – which was consistent with the instructions given by 51st Division. In other words, whatever initial misgivings Harper might have had, the orders from his headquarters gave no hint of any bad faith regarding tanks, and neither did the attitude of his men. On 6 November busloads of infantry arrived at Wailly for the first of a series of joint exercises, and the tank crews came face to face with the shaggy, kilted warriors of the Highland Division.14

  The training sessions at Wailly gave a chance to rehearse their joint tactics, and no concerns were raised by either side. Indeed, the chance to train with the infantry was seen as a godsend by Tank Corps officers such as Captain Edward Glanville Smith: ‘True that at Ypres we had sometimes met a few of the officers and sergeants with whom we were to co-operate, but now at Wailly tank company was allotted to infantry battalion and tank section to infantry company, which made it possible to practise and discuss the actual details of the show with the very officers and men we should later meet (we hoped) in the Hun second, third, etc., lines.’15 Major William Watson was even more effusive:

  We trained with this splendid Division for ten days, working out the plans of our attack so closely that each platoon of Highlanders knew personally the crew of the tank which would lead it across No Man’s Land. Tank officers and infantry officers attended each other’s lectures and dined with each other. Our camp rang at night with strange Highland cries. As far as was humanly possible within the limits of time, we discussed and solved each other’s difficulties, until it appeared that at least on one occasion a tank and infantry attack would in reality be ‘a combined operation.’16

  Another important aspect of the plan was also revealed at this time. The attack would consist of two phases, with a first wave of tanks and troops which was responsible for capturing the enemy’s front-line trench system, and a second wave which would move through to capture the reserve trench system and the still-unnamed village behind. The tanks of No. 12 Company, including D51 Deborah, would make up the second wave, along with any surviving tanks from the first wave, and on 8 November they got the chance to rehearse this with the infantry battalions that would support them.17

  One advantage of training at Wailly was that a section of the old German front line could be incorporated into the practice attacks, with the village of Ficheux standing in for the final objective, where buses were waiting to take the soldiers back to camp.

  There was another, even more agreeable, aspect of these joint exercises. Captain Smith of No. 12 Company told how they soon became ‘the best of friends’ with their infantry colleagues, and this manifested itself in time-honoured fashion: ‘Our liaison work off parade was, if anything, more successful than that on parade, and several hilarious nights were spent together. But it was almost asking the impossible to beat them at the game of “elbow lifting,” and it was no disgrace to own defeat at the hands of the 51st Division.’18 Second Lieutenant Horace Birks recalled a programme consisting of ‘simple tactical exercises by day and the most colossal binges at night … Liaison … with our battalion of the Black Watch was very close, very intimate, very cordial, and both sides understood precisely what was required and expected.’19

  Frank Heap, who had started his war with 9th (Scottish) Division, must have been in his element, and there were fond, though blurred, memories of one gathering from his colleague Second Lieutenant James Macintosh:

  When they sat down to dinner each tank commander was next to the platoon commander who would be following him into action in a few days time. The circumstances, and the whisky, were propitious; fraternization proceeded at an unprecedented rate; and co-operation was so far ensured that in a short time many a platoon commander had his arm round the neck of his mate of the Tanks, while together they made completely successful attacks on bottle after bottle of ‘the creature’ [i.e. whisky] … Parade next morning was called, not at eight, but at eleven, and … before that hour there was much brewing of coffee in officers’ tents.20

  At last the time came for a parting of the ways, as the Highlanders returned to their own camps while the tank crews prepared for the move south to an unknown destination. For reasons of secrecy there were still few details to be had about the coming operation. Maps had been issued with the names blanked out, and even the conference held by Colonel Baker-Carr did not give much away, as Second Lieutenant Birks recalled: ‘There was the usual rush of young officers for the back seats and I was successful in getting right at the back and as a result I was very little wiser at the end of half an hour’s talking. As far as I can remember it was chiefly concerned with what a chance we were going to get, and so on and so on. After losing two tanks in the Ypres Salient I was a little sceptical about what was going to happen, and whether our view of a first class show coincided with that of our optimistic Brigadier.’21 According to Captain Edward Glanville Smith, most of the officers and men still had no idea what was in store: ‘Even when our intensive training was finished the future was shrouded in mystery, and none but the higher few knew the whys and wherefores of this latest development. Time alone could show.’22

  But at least one thing was certain: the tanks crews and the infantry now knew each other, and knew they could count on each other. A bond had been created which spread throughout the ranks, as recalled by one officer from 51st Division: ‘There is a story told of a party of men of, I think, the 6th Gordons, who had been induced to partake of refreshment by their opposite numbers of the Tank Corps. When the lorry with this party aboard was leaving Wailly, a Gordon, by way of farewell, shouted out at the top of his voice, “Guid auld forty-nine! We’ll follow that auld . . onywhere,” “49” evidently being a tank with which they were to work during the coming battle.’23

  The next time they met it would be under very different circumstances, and for the time being they could only guess where the tanks would be called on to lead, and the infantry to follow.

  PART IV

  THE BATTLE OF CAMBRAI

  Map 5 illustrates the move into the forward area by D and E Battalions in preparation for the attack on 20 November.

  On the left is the railway line used to bring in the tanks (including D51 Deborah) from the Plateau railhead, and the ramps where they were unloaded in the early hours of 17 November. Nearby is the level crossing where a tank train collided with a lorry, killing two men, as described in Chapter 21.

  The routes followed by the tanks under cover of darkness are shown, along with the battalion tankodromes in Havrincourt Wood where they remained hidden for the next three days.

  The main German front line is shown, but not the forward outposts scattered across No Man’s Land.

  The map also shows the move forward to the start-line in the early hours of 20 November by the tanks of 1st Tank Brigad
e (i.e. D, E and G Battalions), as described in Chapter 24. Note that the routes shown for G Battalion were also used by the tanks attached to this unit from D and E Battalions. The beginning of some routes has been omitted for clarity.

  CHAPTER 21

  Into Hiding

  For the Highlanders, 13 November was a day of glorious inactivity. This was the anniversary of their greatest military triumph, the storming of the stronghold of Beaumont Hamel on the Somme, and was marked by a holiday for the troops, with sports and pipe concerts. The menu for one dinner has survived, with courses following the plan of attack from soup (‘barrage de tomato’) and ‘first wave whiting’ to ‘café de l’objectif’. A message from Major-General Harper anticipated more victories to come: ‘I am absolutely confident, and I feel that every man in the Division is confident, that, given a fair chance, the Highland Division can always defeat the enemy.’1

  It was a different story for D Battalion, as this was the day set for their departure from Wailly. Major Watson told how ‘at dawn on the 13th we arose and trekked a matter of five miles to Beaumetz Station, where, after an excellent and hilarious lunch at the local estaminet, we entrained successfully for an unknown destination’. Although he made light of it, the process was ‘hideously complicated’.2 Driving a tank up a ramp onto a flatbed railway truck, with only a few inches either side for clearance, was always a supreme test of driving skill, and this was also their first actual encounter with the fascines they had heard so much about. Each tank had to pick up its massive load, carry it onto the railway truck, and then deposit it carefully in front of the tank, otherwise the train would have been too tall to go through the tunnels.

  Night had fallen when the trains finally pulled out, but they were not heading straight for the battlefront. Instead, at 3 o’clock the next morning they drew into an enormous railhead where the tanks were unloaded. Major Watson found this ‘a vast confusing place, and even a major in the Tank Corps felt insignificant among the multitudinous rails, the slow dark trains, the sudden lights. Tanks, which had just detrained, came rumbling round the corners of odd huts. Lorries bumped through the mist with food and kit. Quiet railwaymen, mostly American, went steadily about their business.’3 These were members of the US Army’s 11th Engineers, who had been in France since August 1917 and whose skills were being employed in running the military rail network.4