by John Taylor
Captain Enoch must have gone forward fearing the worst, but this did not happen. Perhaps the tanks did not stray into the artillery’s field of fire, or else the German gunners were simply too short of ammunition. The commander of 6th Bn Seaforth Highlanders, Lieutenant-Colonel Samuel McDonald, seized the opportunity offered by the tanks, but the necessary co-ordination was lacking: ‘I ordered an advance under this covering fire. I got the men forward on right and left but the tanks had ceased firing and again there was a tremendous fusillade of machine-gun fire from the village.’6 They gained a foothold in the second-line Flesquières Trench, but efforts to rush the village were driven back by fire from the wall fronting the château farm, behind which the survivors of Deborah had passed, and from houses in the village.
The Germans were unimpressed: ‘Around 3 p.m. [i.e. 2 p.m. UK time] the English attacked again – tanks also attacked, but most of their shots went into the tree-tops so that numerous branches dropped down on us. The Tommies, who appeared at the edge of the park, came under fierce fire. With the help of the 27th [Reserve Infantry Regiment] the attack was completely beaten off.’7 Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon had to concede that nothing had been achieved by the tanks’ foray: ‘This had the effect of silencing the enemy’s fire, but as soon as the tanks withdrew German machine guns again opened on our infantry.’8
However, later in the afternoon a more substantial opportunity presented itself when a group of wire-pulling tanks, having cleared the way for the cavalry to advance, arrived in the Grand Ravine to await further orders. Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon suddenly found himself with reinforcements: ‘After they had filled with petrol [I] ordered 7 of them to work round the edge of the village and enter the village itself.’ 9
This was the best chance yet of seizing Flesquières and getting the operation back on track, and six of the tanks successfully entered the village from the north unhindered by enemy field guns.10 But even if the infantry had been told what was going on, there was again a glaring lack of co-ordination. Lieutenant-Colonel McDonald sent one group of Seaforth Highlanders through the wood in front of the village and another into the village itself, supported by trench mortars and rifle grenades. This time he did not mince his words: ‘The first party was driven back but the second entered the village and were pushing through when the tanks went away back, without rendering the required assistance.’11
One of his officers described the tanks’ effort as ‘distinctly disappointing on this occasion’, and told how ‘One small Seaforth section, who in the trail of these tanks, managed to effect an entry to the village, were left in their exposed posts until ordered to withdraw.’12
It had been the last throw of the dice for D Battalion, and Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon gave only the briefest summary: ‘On reaching the village the tank commanders could see no signs of its being occupied, and after manoeuvring about until the light failed, withdrew. Again the enemy opened fire on our infantry as soon as the tanks had withdrawn.’13 Although it was no consolation, Major Watson’s original assessment had been proved correct: ‘It was impossible …, at this stage, to secure the necessary cooperation with the infantry, and an attack made by tanks alone would obviously fail.’14
The commander of 51st Division, Major-General George Harper, may have been thinking of this episode when he came to write the section on attacking villages in his infantry training manual: ‘The only chance of success lies in close co-operation between the tanks and the infantry … It will be of no avail for tanks to go independently down the streets of the village in no conformity with the movements of the infantry.’15
* * *
Although the frontal assault on Flesquières had failed, the solution was obvious – not just to the modern armchair strategist, but also to those on the ground at the time, and especially to the Germans, who were baffled as to why the British ignored such an outstanding opportunity.
By early afternoon, 62nd Division, attacking on the left, had occupied the village of Graincourt one-and-a-half miles (or two-and-a-half kilometres) north of Flesquières, and 6th Division had advanced so far on the right towards Nine Wood, Noyelles and Marcoing that its men were ‘looking into the backs of the Germans in Flesquières at a distance of a mile’.16 While 51st Division was, to quote one regimental historian, ‘hanging back in an extraordinary way’ and effectively ‘lay in a sack’,17 the 62nd and 6th Divisions on either side had only to link up behind Flesquières and the enemy would find themselves in a sack, and one from which they were unlikely to escape.
Map 7 shows the situation at Flesquières on the late afternoon of 20 November, with the locations of destroyed and ditched tanks, and the positions reached by attacking infantry from the second wave, as described in Chapters 28–31.
The infantry positions are taken from a map showing the situation at 7 p.m. in the War Diary of 51st Division headquarters. This illustrates how the Highlanders had taken most of the first line of trenches in front of the village, except on the right flank. However, they had largely failed to penetrate through to the second line.
Information on D Battalion’s tanks is taken from Battlegraphs in the War Diaries of the battalion and 1st Tank Brigade. The exceptions are D28 Drake’s Drum III, whose final position is not recorded, and D51 Deborah, which can be precisely located on photographs.
The position of E Battalion’s tanks is more speculative, as details are not given in the Battlegraph, and the map is based on analysis of photographic evidence by Philippe Gorczynski. The approximate location of Second Lieutenant Bion’s tank E40 Edward II is based on a sketch map in his War Memoirs.
German records do not show the exact disposition of forces holding the village at the time, consisting of survivors from 84th Infantry Regiment, 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment, and other assorted units. Positions of artillery batteries are based on the best available information, though by this stage many guns had been destroyed, moved or withdrawn.
Contour lines have been omitted for the sake of clarity, but reference should be made to the relief map 6a on p. 156, which shows how the artillery was hidden on the reverse slope of Flesquières ridge and destroyed the tanks as they appeared over the skyline.
Map 7a shows the wider situation, and illustrates how the attacking forces on either side of Flesquières could have joined up to encircle the village, as described in Chapter 31.
The Germans recognized their perilous position, according to Hauptmann Otto Fürsen, commander of 3rd Battalion, 84th Infantry Regiment: ‘The distance between Nine Wood and Graincourt amounted to 3.5 kilometres, the terrain was visible in itself, and was becoming somewhat clearer at the time. It would have been easy for the English to establish a connection, and thus completely encircle and cut off the defenders of Flesquières – all the more so because they were not lacking in any means of reconnaissance.’18
Despite the primitive state of battlefield communications, the British commanders miles behind the front line were clear what had to be done. The situation was complicated because 51st and 62nd Divisions came under a different army corps to the neighbouring 6th Division, but this was obviously resolved. At 2.35 p.m., 51st Division was told to renew its attack from the south while 18th Brigade from 6th Division attacked Flesquières from the east, and 1st Cavalry Division worked round the northeast side of the village.19
The orders seemed clear, but the attack never went ahead, even though 18th Brigade felt confident of success: ‘The enemy’s resistance in Flesquieres was slackening, and there is little doubt that the village could have been entered with small loss.’ Their report laid the blame on the neighbouring 152nd Brigade, which formed part of 51st Division: ‘A message was … received by telephone … from [the commander of] 152nd Bde., asking that the projected attack should not be carried out, as the northern portion of the village was believed to be already in the hands of the 51st Division.’20
This was strange, since 152nd Brigade’s commander also claimed to have been all in favour of the scheme: ‘I consider
that if an encircling movement had been ordered from the vicinity of Premy Chapel on the right, and Graincourt on the left, to be carried out by the Divisions on the flanks …, many German guns and a considerable number of prisoners would have been captured who, in fact, made good their escape.’21
The 6th Bn Gordon Highlanders, who formed part of 152nd Brigade, told how they established contact with 18th Brigade with a view to supporting a flanking assault, though they were apparently concerned about the lack of liaison with 62nd Division on the left. According to the Gordons: ‘It was evident that co-operation from the direction of the Flesquieres-Graincourt road would be required, and owing to the difficulty of communication the suggestion could not be got back in time for action before dark.’22
A regimental historian commented that ‘the famous 51st Division machinery was not working at its best that day’,23 and the upshot was that despite being obvious to everyone what should be done, no-one actually did it. Clearly there had been a failure of command or communication, or both, but it is less clear who was to blame. In fact the fundamental problem may have been that after years of trench warfare in which advances were limited to the seizure of clearly defined objectives, the army had simply lost the ability to ‘think on its feet’ when the opportunity arose.
This was the view of Hauptmann Fürsen a decade later, as he endlessly pondered the question of why the British had not joined up their two flanks to encircle them: ‘That which an ordinary German company commander would have observed and tried to execute if the tables were turned, was not realized in time, much less put into practice straight away, by the brigade commanders responsible to General Byng. Tactical expertise from a long peacetime training could simply not be learned in a few years of war, despite the declared organizational ability of the English.’24
It would be easy to see this as an outburst of arrogance from a defeated enemy, but a similar explanation was later put forward by Horace Birks, who had commanded a tank in the attack on Flesquières before helping to defeat the Germans in a second war. Looking back in 1949, he wrote: ‘Relatively junior commanders had little or no experience in the use of manoeuvre, their knowledge of the functions of the supporting arms was negligible, their outlook was parochial with great reliance on the strong right arm and personal gallantry. The switch-over from this type of trench warfare to an attack which envisaged deep penetration in country selected for its opportunities for open warfare involved considerable readjustments which could scarcely be achieved with success in two or three weeks’ elementary and somewhat ad hoc tactical exercises.’25
The outcome was that the advance remained checked at Flesquières throughout the afternoon and evening of 20 November, and the crack 51st Division remained, for the time being at least, ‘in a sack’.
* * *
The tanks were in no position to help them out, and after completing his reconnaissance of the battlefield, Major William Watson of D Battalion met up with the survivors of his company near the railway embankment south-west of Flesquières. It was clear they could do no more, so the remaining machines were left under a skeleton guard in the Grand Ravine and they began the dispiriting tramp back to Havrincourt Wood as rain set in.
The tanks that were no longer capable of action were also withdrawn to Havrincourt Wood, among them D27 Double Dee III commanded by Second Lieutenant Horace Birks. During the attack he had maintained his position in front of the château and village, avoiding being drawn off to either flank but unable to penetrate the woods or help the infantry to advance under the intense machine-gun fire. His crew endured this close-range fire for an hour-and-a-half, until forced to withdraw with all but one of them wounded, several Lewis guns out of action, and petrol running low.
Birks told how ‘about half-way back … I ran into Colonel Kyngdon – the first time I’d seen the commanding officer for some time. I thought I should get a rocket, [but] he looked at my tank and told me that I’d better go back to the lying-up place.’26 On the way they gave a lift to some wounded infantrymen inside and on top of the tank. ‘They were all very grateful; they were all from the Highlands and did not speak readily understandable English.’27
On returning to Trescault, Birks discovered their tank had been almost literally shot to pieces by concentrated machine-gun fire:
The barrel of the front gun was bent downwards and the casing torn and flattened, both the unditching rails were cut through and clanging together and the beam was see-sawing unevenly on the exhaust pipe, the hinges of one of the front flaps had been cut through and hung at an angle across the aperture, both the port guns were in a condition very little better than the front gun, and the port louvre was almost shot away. The hull itself was badly pitted in innumerable places, which was one of the reasons for the intensive splash which had been experienced inside the tank.28
When they reached Trescault at 2.15 p.m. another surprise awaited them in the form of a huge force of cavalry, still standing by ready to advance: ‘It was the most extraordinary sight, the first time I’d ever seen a horsed cavalry brigade ready for action, and they were waiting for orders which unfortunately they never got.’29 Either the battered tank or the immaculate cavalry would have to give way, and what happened next turned out to be symbolic: ‘The brigade major tried to persuade us to drive past them on the side of the road, but the driver went slowly but firmly right through the middle of them all.’30
Later that evening, Birks’ company commander, Major William Watson, was also in for a surprise when he got back to Havrincourt Wood and met up with the adjutant of D Battalion, Captain Fred Cozens. As usual, Major Watson exercised a dignified restraint, but there was no mistaking his disdain for the way Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon had handled the situation:
The adjutant was much distressed, for he had had no news of the Colonel, who apparently had left the infantry brigade headquarters early in the day. A pile of messages were waiting for him, including, to my chagrin, those which I had sent him in such haste when I had discovered that the Highlanders were held up at the railway embankment. It was after nine, and I was wondering whether or not to inform the brigade, when the Colonel came in with Cooper [i.e. Watson’s deputy, Major Richard Cooper].
The Colonel, who had gone forward early in the battle, had found Cooper in the communication trench by the embankment, where I had left him with Jumbo to keep in touch with the situation. In the afternoon they had collected a few tanks and sent them into Flesquieres. The tanks had paraded through the outskirts of the village, and not a shot was fired at them; but later, when the infantry attacked again, the enemy came up from their hiding-places and let fly with machine-guns. At dusk Flesquieres was still inviolate.
We cared little about anything, except sleep. The Colonel told us that we should not be required on the next day. So after a meal and a pipe we turned in for the night.31
For the men of the 51st Division, clinging to their hard-won positions before Flesquières, sleep was a rare commodity as they wrapped themselves in their rain-sodden kilts and prepared to renew their attack on the village. With the coming of nightfall the infantry were effectively on their own, and they removed Lewis guns from some of the derelict tanks to reinforce their positions.
Patrols sent into the village found the west side was lightly held by a few machine-gunners and snipers, and the battalions began preparing to mount a flanking attack, but 51st Division headquarters reported: ‘Before it could be carried out information was received that a general attack, supported by artillery, was to take place at dawn.’32
* * *
It was scant consolation for the men of D and E Battalions, but 20 November 1917 had been one of the most stunningly successful days of the war for the British Army. In the space of a few hours they had punched their way through the most formidable German positions on the Western Front. In a war when advances were often measured in hundreds of yards and tens of thousands of casualties, they had driven the enemy back for a distance of three to four miles (or four to s
ix-and-a-half kilometres) at a cost of around 4,000 men dead, wounded or missing. They had inflicted severe losses on the enemy, taken well over 4,000 prisoners, and destroyed or captured 100 field guns.33 Incredible though it seems, in one day they had captured an area roughly equal to the entire gains in the Third Battle of Ypres.
All arms had contributed to this extraordinary achievement, but it was the massed use of tanks that had enabled the infantry to break through the German positions without prolonged artillery preparation, and thus preserve the surprise and provide the fire support that were essential to success.
But for all that, victory had not been total. The Tank Corps had paid a heavy price for its heroism, with 179 of its 378 fighting tanks out of action from a combination of direct hits, ditching and mechanical breakdowns.34 The losses had been especially heavy in D and E Battalions, which had lost forty-three tanks out of the seventy that went into action, including Deborah. The great force of cavalry, hobbled by confusion and indecision, had not gone forward in any substantial numbers, and the strategically important Bourlon Ridge remained in the hands of the enemy, who began reinforcing it as quickly as possible.
On the other hand, it was clear that the German defenders of Flesquières had also suffered heavily, with 84th Infantry Regiment losing eight of its officers dead, two wounded and thirty-three captured. The regimental historian was unable to give a precise figure for NCOs and men, but estimated the casualties at around 1,500.35 The 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment gave its total losses in the battle as twenty-seven officers and 983 NCOs and men killed, wounded and missing.36