by John Taylor
The dead men were Gunner Joseph Cheverton, killed on the day he turned twenty, along with Gunner Fred Tipping, the father of three young children, and Gunner George Foot who had endured the vigil in No Man’s Land with his wounded officer a year before. The other victim was Gunner William Galway, the ‘true Irish gentleman’ who had survived the first day of the Somme, and Frank Heap’s tribute shows he never lost his sense of humour: ‘He kept us in shrieks of laughter right up to the moment of his death, and died with a laugh on his lips.’21
Frank Heap could do nothing for his comrades, or for the fifth crewman – still unidentified – who had been killed during the attack. But somehow two crewmen survived along with Heap, and they now found themselves in the worst possible situation: cut off inside a German-held village, armed with nothing more than revolvers, and facing the oncoming Highlanders who might well mistake them for the enemy, even if they could reach them across No Man’s Land.
Meanwhile German soldiers were retreating down the road past the blazing tank; so whatever they did, they had better do it quickly.
* * *
At around this time, Major Watson arrived at the Grand Ravine and discovered the full scale of the setback:
We found ourselves in the open with a tank a hundred yards away. We walked to it and discovered my section-commander, Wyatt, with Morris, who had been hit in the shoulder. They told me that we were held up outside Flesquieres, which was being cleverly defended by field guns. Several tanks had already been knocked out and others had nearly finished their petrol. And there was an unpleasant rumour that Marris was killed.
We took to a narrow half-completed communication trench and pushed on up the hill towards the village, meeting the survivors of two crews of [E Battalion], whose tanks had been knocked out in endeavouring to enter Flesquieres from the east along the crest of the ridge. The trench was being shelled. From the sound of the guns it appeared that they were only a few hundred yards away. We walked steadily up the trench until we came to the railway embankment, five or six hundred yards from the outskirts of the village, and we could go no farther, for on the other side of the embankment were the enemy and some of my tanks.22
With Ward and Marris both out of action, Watson was the most senior officer on the scene. It was obvious the attack had broken down, but far less obvious to him – or anyone else – what to do about it. Perhaps R.O.C. Ward would have reacted differently, but for Watson the priorities were to let the other units know what was happening, and to find out more about the situation.
These were both sensible steps, but with hindsight it does seem he might have delegated them to others. Watson was accompanied by his second-in-command, the seasoned regular Major Richard Cooper, and his reconnaissance officer, Lieutenant Frederick ‘Jumbo’ King, who would appear to be obvious candidates for the two roles. Instead Watson left them in situ, and set off on a long trek across the battlefield which took him out of contact for much of the day. This is not to suggest that he could have done anything had he stayed; but at least he would have been there if the situation changed.
First he went back two miles (or three kilometres) to the nearest infantry battalion headquarters to inform them that Flesquières had not, as they believed, been taken, sending messages at the same time to inform Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon, who he believed to be at the infantry brigade headquarters in Trescault. The infantry commander did not believe the report, so Watson set off on a hazardous reconnaissance with his scout officer, who was finally convinced when they had to crawl on their hands and knees to avoid machine-gun fire from the village, one bullet striking the heel of Watson’s boot.
By his own account, it was ‘a few hours’23 before Major Watson met up with anyone else from D Battalion; and a great deal had happened in the meantime.
* * *
By late morning, the lead battalions of the 51st Division had therefore seized the main trench in front of Flesquières, known as Hindenburg Support, and in some places they had fought their way through to the next line, known as Flesquières Trench, but all their efforts to advance further had been beaten back by small-arms fire from the village. In most cases the tanks had succeeded in crushing paths through the wire, but many had been destroyed by close-range artillery fire, and those that survived were now dangerously low on petrol. Without their support to tackle the enemy’s machine guns, the infantry had little chance of moving into the village while the Germans were defending it so tenaciously. In addition, the British field guns had begun their scheduled move forward to keep up with the advance, so there was no chance of a further bombardment, even if this could be arranged. There was no obvious solution to this impasse.
While all this was going on, the great force of cavalry had also begun its planned move forward to take over the next stage of the operation. Sir Douglas Haig was convinced the success of the battle would hinge on their ability to capture Bourlon Ridge – a low hill with its sinister crest of dark woodland, from which anyone who held it could overlook and ultimately dominate the entire region west of Cambrai. Since the ridge lay some five miles (or eight kilometres) behind the German lines, it was beyond the reach of most infantry and tanks, and the only realistic hope of taking it on the first day lay with the cavalry, who were still unsurpassed on the battlefield for speed and mobility.24
The entire Cavalry Corps was standing by to take part in the battle, just as the entire Tank Corps had done, and one might say they had just as much riding on it. Both arms had struggled to demonstrate their value in the prevailing military conditions, though the events of the last few hours suggested this assessment would have to be revised in the case of tanks. Now the time was coming for the cavalry to sweep forward, but before that the tanks had to give them one final push.
At the planning stage, much thought had been given to the preparation of routes suitable for horses, which could not negotiate the narrow paths crushed by tanks through the barbed wire. The solution was to provide a special force of wire-pulling tanks carrying huge grapnels like a ship’s anchor attached to a cable, with which they would drag the wire aside to clear a way for the cavalry.
This force was commanded by Captain the Honourable John Bingham, who had spent a frustrating summer awaiting the order to charge his specially adapted tanks up the sea-wall near Ostend to spearhead the aborted coastal landing known as ‘Operation Hush’. This time his efforts met with greater success, as described by Captain Stuart Hastie from D Battalion, who commanded a party of wire-pullers:
The tank passed into the belt of wire dropping the grapnel as it proceeded, passed through the wire and turned to the right and proceeded up parallel to the belt of wire. The effect of this was to roll the grapnel and roll up the wire, pulling up stakes and everything until we had a mound of wire as high as a cottage, at which point the tank could go no further on account of the … tremendous weight of this wire, and the cable was cut and the tank left to join the other fighting tanks in the battle, leaving behind it a gap of at least sixty yards from which every strand of wire and every post had been torn up and rolled up.25
Once again, the Germans’ thoroughness counted against them, and the thickly matted belts of wire and stakes were easily dragged aside leaving a number of routes clear for the cavalry, including one from Trescault to Ribécourt and beyond.
No fewer than five cavalry divisions were to take part in the attack, consisting of 27,500 men plus horses,26 with 1st Cavalry Division positioned directly behind the sector being attacked by D and E Battalions. Their planned approach route to Bourlon would take them through Ribécourt and then on a long, curving sweep to the east past Bois des Neufs, or Nine Wood, near the village of Marcoing. But if the situation permitted, they were to take a more direct route to Bourlon by going over the Flesquières ridge.
In the village of Metz-en-Couture behind the lines, Lance-Corporal Willie Pennie of 4th Bn Seaforth Highlanders witnessed the astonishing sight as 1st Cavalry Division moved forward to take part in the attack: ‘The British
cavalry began to make their appearance on the horizon about 8 o’clock passing through Metz on the road leading toward the lines. They came on in an endless line as far as the eye could reach till after 12 o’clock, a never to be forgotten spectacle as they passed within a [hundred yards] of our camp – Scots Greys, Lancers, Royal Horse Artillery, and last but by no means least the Bengal Lancers.’27
At 11.07, the headquarters of IV Corps – which was more than eight miles (or nearly thirteen kilometres) behind the front line, in the village of Villers-au-Flos – finally received the news it had been hoping for from 51st Division: ‘Our men seen on Flesquieres line on both [brigade] fronts.’28
Eight minutes later, IV Corps headquarters flashed the news to 1st Cavalry Division, which was under its command: ‘Road from Trescault … to Flesquieres reported fit for cavalry. Flesquieres now taken. Push forward through Brown Line.’29 The next phase of the attack had begun.
Three minutes later, 1st Cavalry Division passed on the order to its 2nd Cavalry Brigade: ‘Flesquieres reported taken. Push on via Trescault to Flesquieres.’30 From 2nd Cavalry Brigade, the message was passed to their leading unit, the 4th Dragoon Guards, who had already moved up as far as Ribécourt. Fortunately this did not – as one might expect – trigger a doomed cavalry charge into a hail of machine-gun fire. In fact, the effect was rather the opposite.
The 4th Dragoon Guards could see perfectly well what was happening ahead, and it was obvious Flesquières had not been taken, while even Ribécourt itself was not entirely secure. Lieutenant David Williams recalled: ‘We could see tanks alight and burning on the crest of the ridge, and the Scottish division who were supposed to be advancing with the tanks were pinned down on the slope and there was no possibility of advancing.’31
The Dragoon Guards were sent to investigate, but like Major Watson they only got as far as the railway embankment in front of the village.32 Their arrival was witnessed by an officer of 8th Bn Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders who were holding the position: ‘I can remember looking back over the valley and seeing what appeared to be tens of thousands of horsemen, and it was one of the most magnificent and inspiring sights one could imagine … One regiment rode up behind the embankment and the C.O. asked many questions which I answered to the best of my ability. However, after a short stay they about-turned and rode back down the valley.’33
The commander of 2nd Cavalry Brigade then went to the Grand Ravine in person to see if they could move through Flesquières, and ‘realised the impossibility of executing this order … I therefore returned to the advance regiment, ordered them to leave Flesquieres alone, to turn Ribécourt from the South and proceed as quickly as possible to Bois des Neuf.’34
An immediate bloodbath had been averted, but several hours had been wasted in the confusion. In the words of Lieutenant David Williams: ‘The mistake was ever directing us to Flesquières … Regimental commanders should be given a free hand and merely told their objectives and told to get on as fast as they could, and not given detailed orders which turned out to be entirely wrong.’35
A subsequent report sent to Sir Douglas Haig said that ordering the Dragoon Guards into Flesquières had ‘sounded the first note of the death knell of the cavalry operations, and the officer who carried it out or prepared to do so, completed the funeral ceremony. Three hours were wasted here of precious daylight, and nothing accomplished except the extinguishing of the possibility of any further valuable cavalry operations on Z day [i.e. 20 November].’36
Later there was much buck-passing between IV Corps and 1st Cavalry Division about who was to blame, but for now the race was on to overcome the delay. As the long columns of horsemen clattered away to the east, they knew time was running out and there was now little chance of taking Bourlon Wood before the end of that short November day.
During the afternoon small groups of cavalry did approach Flesquières to probe its defences, and the outcome demonstrates their appalling vulnerability on the modern battlefield. They belonged to King Edward’s Horse, a unit made up of volunteers from the colonies and attached to the attacking divisions. Their commanding officer told how one patrol, led by Lieutenant Arthur Tutt, ‘made a determined effort to find a line through the enemy trenches to the north-east. It carried out its task with great courage and dash but only succeeded in establishing the fact that the enemy still occupied a strong and continuous line on the further edge of the slope.’ Lieutenant Tutt and his second-in-command were both severely wounded.37
Leutnant Möhring of 108th Pioneer Company described the same encounter: ‘Towards 3 p.m. [i.e. 2 p.m. UK time] around two squadrons of English cavalry came riding towards us north-east of Flesquières, all on beautiful black horses with white blazes. We let them come to within 150 metres and then opened up with machine-gun fire. They immediately turned tail and rushed away in a wild flight with heavy losses, even through the barbed wire entanglement where many more horses fell.’38
* * *
Although Frank Heap and two of his crew had survived Deborah’s final journey, the danger was far from over, and they now had to somehow slip back to their own lines, avoiding capture or worse at the hands of the Germans who were still occupying the village.
It was vital to get away from their burning tank as quickly as possible, and the route they chose took them due south, behind the backs of the buildings lining the street up which they had come. But this also led them straight into a key enemy stronghold, the wooded grounds of the château farm, where they could see machine-gunners firing at the advancing British from behind the massive brick wall.
Second Lieutenant James Macintosh must have heard what happened directly from Frank Heap, his brother officer in No. 12 Company: ‘On the right of Flesquières, one tank had succeeded in penetrating to the farther edge of the village; here it was blasted, four of the crew were killed outright, and the survivors crept back through the empty streets. The commander observed a machine gun in full operation from behind the shelter of the château wall, and was compelled to pass it by …’39
Soon after this, their worst fears were realized, as recounted by Second Lieutenant Macintosh: ‘… round the next corner he met a party of the enemy face to face, and for a moment neither could decide whether to surrender or to claim surrender, but in the nick of time a Jock scout appeared with bombs, and the Boches fled – eleven from two.’40
Decades later, Frank Heap’s grandson Will Heap came across an old service revolver inside a trunk at the family home. ‘It was massively heavy, a fearsome thing. I told my father about it, and he said “that probably saved your grandfather’s life”. The story was that Frank had gone round a corner and there were lots of Germans there, and he thought “they’re going to kill me”, so he pointed his revolver at them and they all stuck their hands up. And he ordered them in German to stay there, and carried on.’41
The revolver was handed in to the police by Frank’s son, but one item from Deborah has survived – a red and yellow flag, now creased and faded, but still bearing burn-marks which must have been made by metal splinters inside the tank. The flag was carried by tank crews as a signal to tell the infantry ‘All Clear – come on’,42 and Frank’s family believe he took it with him so he could identify himself and his men to the British troops when they got close to their own lines.43 As it turned out, the chance encounter with the ‘Jock scout’ had saved the day, and Frank Heap and his companions were escorted back to safety by the men of 51st Division.
Captain Edward Glanville Smith was impressed by Frank’s achievement: ‘He himself and the two other survivors somehow succeeded in fighting their way back to our lines.’44 Heap was awarded the Military Cross for gallantry, and the citation summarized what happened after Deborah was destroyed: ‘Although then behind the German lines he collected the remainder of his crew, and conducted them in good order back to our own lines in spite of heavy machine-gun and snipers’ fire.’45
It was an epic escape, but it could not disguise the fact that not a sing
le tank had managed to get past the German artillery, and although Deborah had come closest to reaching the objective, Flesquières still remained firmly in the hands of the enemy.
CHAPTER 31
Like a Boar at Bay
Some time in the early afternoon, while Frank Heap and his crew were making their way back through the German lines, the tank crews waiting in the Grand Ravine jumped up to salute the arrival of none other than the commanding officer of D Battalion, Lieutenant-Colonel William Kyngdon. He had left the infantry headquarters in Trescault to come forward and take charge of the situation in person.1
With all three of his three company commanders dead, captured or incommunicado, it was the appropriate course of action, but the challenge he now faced was enormous, perhaps insurmountable. Major R.O.C. Ward was the one man who might have been able to galvanize the few remaining tanks, formulate a rapid plan of action with the infantry on the ground, and lead an ad hoc assault on the village. But R.O.C. Ward was dead, and it was doubtful whether Kyngdon, the artilleryman and old colonial hand, would have either the capability or the charisma to pull it off.
His initial response was to call on one of his most experienced section commanders, Captain Alfred Enoch, who had taken part in the very first tank action in September 1916 and later commanded D43 Delysia in the attack on 22 August. The records show that Enoch went into the battle with only one fighting tank,2 so he was probably also in charge of the supply tanks which dragged sledges laden with petrol and other essential materials.
The battalion history says ‘the Section under Capt. A.J. Enoch was despatched through Flesquieres’,3 but they probably did not enter the village at this time and their mission was more limited, as described by Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon: ‘I … ordered 3 male tanks to approach the edge of the village and fire heavily into the wood in front of it.’4 If it had taken enormous courage to approach Flesquières when no-one knew what was there, it must have been a truly terrifying prospect now the village was, in Major Watson’s memorable phrase, ‘surrounded with derelict tanks, like a boar at bay with dead hounds’.5