by John Taylor
Meanwhile the tanks of No. 12 Company – including Deborah – had moved off 200 yards behind the first wave and followed in their tracks, though that was not always easy, as Second Lieutenant James Macintosh found.
At last the front line came into view, a huge trench whose difficulties had not been over-estimated. Captured obviously, and in our hands; but where were the flags which were to have marked the presence of the first wave’s fascines? Anxiously Tosh peered right and left. No sign of a flag; but away to the right he saw the explanation. Three tanks were ditched there, close together. Either their fascines had fallen off or they had proved useless, and the attempt to cross without had failed. Tosh determined to drop his own fascine. Lifting his hand to the lever he pulled it to one side; with a crackle the great bundle lurched forward, and dropped accurately into the trench. Tosh signalled his driver to go forward; the tank’s nose dropped true on to the fascine, and in a second they were across. A glance behind showed that the nearest tank was preparing to follow him across.47
By 7.30 a.m., just over an hour after zero, the first tanks had already reached the Grand Ravine,48 though some fighting was still going on in the trenches behind them. There would now be time for the tanks and infantry to regroup ready for the second phase of the attack.
PART V
BEYOND THE GRAND RAVINE
CHAPTER 27
A Mountain to Climb
When the tank crews began pulling into the Grand Ravine, their overriding response was relief. As they had hoped, its dramatic name belied a broad, flat valley containing an innocent stream, and although the Germans were still fighting a desperate rearguard action and counter-attacking where they could, there was no sign of the tremendous opposition or physical obstacles that were predicted here.
The so-called ‘Blue Line’ which formed the first objective ran along one side or other of this valley, and the operation had therefore reached a crucial stage. At this point the second wave of tanks from No. 12 Company (in D Battalion) and No. 14 Company (in E Battalion) would move to the forefront of the attack, supported by the surviving tanks from the first wave. Here they would also link up with the fresh infantry battalions which had passed through the first-wave battalions, now settling into the captured trenches behind them.
If one man had been made for this moment, it was Major R.O.C. Ward. The task of reorganizing his tanks and their supporting infantry, and inspiring them for the challenge ahead, was a fitting one for the heavyweight hero of the Harlequins, who was easily the most forceful and dynamic leader in D Battalion.
But when the crews clambered out of their machines to gasp in the fresh air of the Grand Ravine, they were greeted by shocking news: R.O.C. Ward was dead.
Unlike Hauptmann Soltau, who fell at the height of the battle, Major Ward was killed before it had really begun. As soon as the bombardment started, the Germans reacted by spraying the British lines with ‘wild machine-gun fire which appeared to come from the Outpost Line, and overhead fire directed from rear systems’.1 The headquarters of 51st Division called it ‘harmless’,2 but one of these random bullets had struck and felled the major just as his tanks were about to move off – a few minutes after he had uttered the words that seemed to unleash the barrage: ‘Now for it’.3
The death of this larger-than-life figure was met with horror by his counterpart in No. 11 Company, Major William Watson: ‘It was almost impossible to believe that we should never see again “Roc” Ward, the great athlete, the very embodiment of energy, the skilled leader of men, the best of good fellows – and never hear again his enormous voice rolling out full-blooded instructions … When we heard of his death later, the joy of victory died away …’4
The response of his men was rather less impassioned, with Captain Edward Glanville Smith describing his death as ‘most unfortunate’, resulting as it did in ‘a most disheartening start’.5 Private Jason Addy’s view was that ‘he got killed because he persisted in getting out of the tank’,6 which was unfair since company commanders rarely went to battle inside their tanks; in fact brigade headquarters advised them not to, because ‘they are unable to see the general trend of a battle and are out of touch’.7
Whatever the men’s reactions, the death of R.O.C. Ward left a vital missing link in the chain of command. His deputy, Captain Walter Smith, now took charge, and although he seems to have been perfectly competent, he could hardly emulate the volcanic energy of the man they called ‘The Bull’. R.O.C. Ward had been such a key player that the Tank Corps staff officer Captain Frederick Hotblack saw his death as one of the factors affecting the outcome of the battle.8 But what was done could not be undone, and the game had to be played to its final whistle, even though R.O.C. Ward would not be on hand to cheer his team to victory or console them in defeat.
* * *
Even without this setback, the British forces gathering in the Grand Ravine – including the crew of D51 Deborah – could no longer have any doubts about the metaphorical mountain they had to climb. The low wooded ridge of Flesquières, which looked so innocuous from their own lines, now seemed to loom threateningly above them.
The survivors of 84th Infantry Regiment were fleeing back along communication trenches towards the village, which had been substantially reinforced at the last minute as a result of the prisoners’ revelations. The British knew nothing of this, but they were aware that enemy field guns were dug in along the reverse slope of the ridge, and could only hope these had been obliterated by the artillery barrage.
Whatever the state of the enemy’s forces, it was obvious that the second phase of the attack would be much harder than the first. During the long run-up to zero hour, there had been plenty of time for the tanks to form up with their infantry units in No Man’s Land before moving off against pre-assigned objectives, in what many had likened to a field exercise. They also had the advantage of almost total surprise.
The words of R.O.C. Ward’s pre-battle briefing now echoed in their ears: ‘Once again [No. 12] Company had been chosen for the task which demanded enterprise and staying power; for, whereas the other companies had definite objectives, they who formed the second wave were first to overcome a series of definite obstacles, and were then to push on with an unlimited objective …’9 Not only that, but D Battalion was already depleted by the loss of seven of its thirty-five fighting tanks, now lying ditched or broken down among the enemy’s front-line trenches. Five of these were male tanks, so the firepower of the attacking force was dangerously eroded.10
The ditched tanks were mostly from the first wave, but there was one exception: D50 Dandy Dinmont was in No. 12 Company, and belonged to the same section as Deborah. As the only male tank in the section, Dandy Dinmont’s 6-pounders would have been a vital asset when they reached Flesquières. Its commander, Lieutenant Hugo Armitage, was popular with the men and generally praised by his superiors – one called him ‘a sound officer of the right type’ – though some felt his painstaking approach made him too slow in action.11 For all this thoroughness, his tank now lay ditched and disabled by problems with its autovac, a notoriously temperamental device that fed petrol into the engine. Dandy Dinmont had not fired a single shot in anger, and the section commander, Captain Graeme Nixon, could only prepare to plough on with his two remaining female tanks.
The timetable for the attack on Flesquières was driven by the schedule of the artillery barrage, which had been calculated beforehand and plotted on maps distributed to the attackers. Bearing in mind the multiple uncertainties of the operation, it was clearly impossible to predict the exact speed of the advance. At the same time, communications on the battlefield were so rudimentary that it would be impossible to make changes to the barrage plan once the attack was under way. Many lives therefore depended on the decisions made at the planning stage, since it was crucial that the attackers could move forward protected by the barrage, without themselves becoming caught up in it.
According to the plan, the slopes in front of Flesquières would be plast
ered with high explosive from 8.05 to 8.35 a.m., supplementing the smokescreen which had been maintained on the ridge since zero. At precisely 8.35 a.m. the smokescreen would lift and the barrage would drop back to the main trench line in front of the village, known as Hindenburg Support, followed at 9.15 a.m. by a further move back to the second-line trenches and Flesquières itself. The village and the slopes behind would be pounded for the next ten minutes, after which the barrage would move even further back to hinder any attempt to retreat or bring up reinforcements. Heavy artillery would also bombard specific strongpoints, and in particular the known locations of enemy gun batteries.12
The schedule allowed some time for the attackers to gather their forces in the Grand Ravine, as explained in a IV Corps report: ‘A pause was made on the Blue line till …8.35 a.m. to reorganize and allow the troops and tanks for the second objective to pass through.’13 But inevitably, the timetable proved too quick for some crews and too slow for others.
Second Lieutenant Horace Birks was especially critical of the delay, and since he left several accounts of the battle and went on to become a major-general, his experiences carry considerable weight. Far from racing to beat Brigadier-General Elles as exhorted by his section commander, Captain David Morris, he found himself waiting for fifty minutes in the Grand Ravine while the barrage moved forward. There the spoils in the enemy’s dug-outs proved a dangerous distraction.
After getting out to inspect the captured trenches, Birks returned to his tank to find only the driver still aboard: ‘I searched frantically right and left, and in a few minutes the crew trickled back in ones and twos, laden with the most amazing collection of loot I have ever seen, chiefly consisting of field glasses, greatcoats, pickelhauben and such like. A particularly tough little Scotch Lance-Corporal came back with a frying pan of sausages, which he said he had got from an officer’s dug-out …14 I was furious with rage so they presented the best pair [of binoculars] to me and off we went again.’15
Looking back, he felt the pause led to a disastrous loss of momentum: ‘It was a pity that this halt, organized for the best of reasons, jeopardized the whole of the attack in that particular area. The victorious, invincible sweep forward was arrested voluntarily; élan was discarded; that irresistible urge to venture farther was lost; the first flush of unexpected and complete success was succeeded by sober reflection of what was to be done as soon as the barrage lifted.’16
However, his experiences were far from universal and other tanks that had encountered heavier resistance in the first phase now found themselves racing to keep up with the covering artillery fire. Second Lieutenant James Macintosh recorded that ‘unfortunately … time had been lost, and they were a good half-hour behind the barrage’.17 Second Lieutenant Wilfred Bion from E Battalion pressed on after ‘a pause’ at the Grand Ravine: ‘I reached Flesquières at about 9.10. This was rather too early. We were greeted with tremendous machine-gun fire.’18
* * *
Whether they had been rushing to keep up with the barrage or killing time until it moved forward, the second great wave of men and machines was soon making its steady way up the slopes towards Flesquières. The objective or ‘Brown Line’ lay on the far side of the village, but the woods which screened the houses were clearly impassable for tanks, so the tree-covered brow of the hill tended to act like a giant breakwater with the tanks working their way round on either side. As they began to come under more intense fire, D Battalion therefore became split up, with most of their tanks drawn towards the left-hand side of the village, while others (including D51 Deborah) moved to the right alongside those from E Battalion which were attacking there.
The advance began well for D Battalion, supported by fresh troops from 7th Bn Black Watch and 7th Bn Gordon Highlanders who drove the Germans back up their communication trenches towards the reserve system of trenches skirting the village. Shocking though it may seem, the main emotion recorded by the tank crews at this time was elation. Having swept through the German forward positions, and with the enemy now fleeing before them, there was a growing sense of impregnability inside their steel fortresses.
Second Lieutenant James Macintosh described what happened when D45 Destroyer II reached the communication trench known, with grim aptness, as Cemetery Alley. The Germans called this trench Havrincourt-Riegel, and were using it as an escape route back to Flesquières. As Macintosh swung his tank to patrol along the trench, he suddenly saw grey-clad figures leap from shelter and run across his front:
Then for the crew of [his tank] began the rabbit-shooting of their fondest dreams. Streams and streams of the enemy, their retreat cut off by Tosh and their front menaced by the approaching wave, broke wildly from cover. As fast as the gunners could reload, they poured in a hail of bullets, Tosh himself firing and yelling like a maniac. At last the panic subsided, the remainder of the enemy apparently realizing the futility of an attempt to escape; but it left Tosh and his crew hoarse with joy and almost beside themselves with excitement. To those who have never experienced it, the lust of battle must always appear unnatural and terrible; but ever after Tosh would look back to those few minutes of slaughter as among the most joyful moments of his life.
With the cessation of the panic bolt, all appeared to be over, and Tosh proceeded slowly parallel with the trench. Suddenly, in a shell-hole dead ahead, he noticed three living figures – Boche – in grey uniforms and big black helmets, kamerading [i.e. surrendering]. He drew closer to within a few yards. His approach threw them into the last extremity of terror; faces mottled with sickly green, eyes starting, mouths agape, their bodies racked with trembling, they knew not whether to bolt and be shot or stay and be run over.
Tosh too was faced with a problem. If he left them they would infallibly get away to the enemy lines, but to shoot them in cold blood did not appeal to his instincts. Finally he swung left and blotted them from his mind.
He was now approaching another section of the trench he had crossed. To his astonishment he found it still full of Boches, about 150 with two officers, all kamerading in approved style, and throwing equipment, bombs and rifles on to the parapet. This was too much for a man in Tosh’s state of excitement. In defiance of orders, armed only with a revolver, he climbed out of his tank and strolled up and down the parados, yelling at the dumb-founded enemy in a marvellous mixture of bad French and worse Dutch, until finally the infantry arrived at the double, and he handed over the prisoners, climbed into the bus and carried on with the war.19
David Morris was also gripped by euphoria in his determination to beat the commander of the Tank Corps to their objective, and he was lucky to survive. Second Lieutenant Birks, now back in action after the halt in the Grand Ravine, witnessed an extraordinary spectacle: ‘I then saw my next door neighbour tank come into view; it was carrying the section commander, who for some reason was riding on the top of the tank. He was hit in the shoulder almost at once, and grasping his arm he rolled down the back of the tank and disappeared inside.’20 Captain Morris had lost his race, though not his life, and a few days later he was in an English hospital being treated for a septic ‘through and through wound’ of the shoulder. Not surprisingly his letter to the War Office requesting a gratuity did not go into too much detail, referring simply to ‘a … severe … wound inflicted by a sniper outside the village of Flesqueres [sic]’.21 The tank Morris had been riding on, D21 Dreadnought III, was still carrying its fascine which was now seen to be smoking. The only way for Birks to alert the crew was to fire a machine gun at their tank, after which they managed to dump the burning fascine in a shell-hole.22
Captain Edward Glanville Smith from No. 12 Company – another section commander, though a more level-headed one – described the scene after they left the Grand Ravine: ‘Up the slope from there to Flesquieres the attack advanced with tanks in a perfect line from Havrincourt Village to Ribécourt, and the infantry following in high spirits. The crest of the ridge was reached after some of the best possible shooting practice with M.G.�
��s – and then the fun really began.’23
On the west side of the village there promised to be a repeat of the first phase of the attack as the tanks crushed paths through the barbed wire, and soon after 10 a.m. the Highlanders had taken possession of the main trench, known as Hindenburg Support. D Battalion’s tanks now headed for the next trench-line, known as Flesquières Trench, which marked the final barrier separating the attackers from the village itself.
But when they advanced towards it, all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER 28
The Crack of Doom
As D45 Destroyer II approached the enemy front line, it passed the little cemetery on the outskirts of the village. Second Lieutenant James Macintosh described what happened next:
As Tosh crawled over the crest of the rise and crossed the trench, he noticed several Jocks pointing ahead and waving their arms wildly. He peered out, but could see no reason for their warning. As he was following the safe procedure of peppering all the surrounding country with his machine-gun, his attention was caught and held by an appalling sight. A tank to the right had suddenly burst into a bright sheet of flame, while such of the crew as were able could be seen scuttling like rabbits to shelter. A premonition passed through his mind – field guns! He turned back to try and spot them, when suddenly, at his very ear, there came a bang like unto the crack of doom, and all round him was flame and choking vapour, and the awful screaming of stricken men.
In subsequent recollection only two impressions remained of the next few seconds. He could remember crying ‘Get out of it’ at the top of his voice, and he could remember a terrible second while scrambling, scrabbling men tried to open the side door. When next his mind could record impressions he was lying flat in a shallow trench twenty yards away, his first driver by his side.