Deborah and the War of the Tanks

by John Taylor

  His eventful life came to an end in 1949, and he would have been delighted that The Times saw him as representing ‘that unconventional type of soldier which disturbs the equanimity of General Staffs but which, if it succeeds in overcoming their opposition, often contributes greatly to the winning of wars’.32 Despite his personal troubles, an even more telling tribute appeared in the same newspaper for many years on the anniversary of his death, from his second wife: ‘In treasured and unfading memory of my beloved husband, and in deep gratitude for the profound love and happiness he gave me.’33

  The only member of D Battalion who might have competed with Baker-Carr for raffish glamour was Major Richard Cooper, who had been second-in-command of No. 11 Company and later won the Military Cross twice for bravery. Cooper’s father was a landowner from the East Midlands who made his fortune in the Wild West, having acquired a ranch in Wyoming and become a prominent ‘cattle baron’.34 Even greater wealth flowed when oil was discovered on the land, and ‘Dick’ Cooper inherited a share of this along with his father’s love of hunting, which took him round the world on expeditions to shoot game.

  He also bought a coffee plantation in what is now Tanzania, but the real attractions of Africa were the wild animals that lived there, the dazzling people who came to shoot them, and the beautiful women who came with them. In this way ‘Dick’ Cooper became a confederate of Ernest Hemingway and the professional hunter Baron Bror Blixen, who recalled a visit to Kenya in 1929 by the German air ace Ernst Udet. Over dinner, Cooper apparently recorded how their trenches had been strafed by low-flying enemy aircraft in 1917, until he produced his hunting rifle: ‘I … thought I’d try it out on those buggers! Nothing to lose. The first one came straight for us, the pilot clearly visible hunched behind his machine gun. I fired some way in front and to my surprise he plummeted down like a pheasant behind me. The second the same. Hardly believing my luck and cheered on by the men, I quickly reloaded and got a shot off at the third just as he passed over. He also went down.’ According to Blixen, this somewhat marred the evening because the three pilots were from Udet’s unit and he had never found out what became of them, though having heard the story, one might feel he still lacked a credible explanation.35 Cooper also served his country again in the Second World War, working as a military adviser in the Pacific and then at various headquarters after D-Day.36 It would have been a travesty for such an eventful life to end quietly, and sure enough he died after falling from his boat while shooting birds on a lake on his African estate in 1952, having apparently suffered a heart attack. There were claims that he had been drinking, but whether or not this was the case, he had certainly lived life to the full.37

  Many other men from D Battalion sought their fortune in Britain’s far-flung colonies after the war. John McNiven, who had been in the same section as Deborah, moved to what is now Suriname where his family owned a sugar plantation, and also died by drowning, having suffered a black-out in his swimming pool on the island of Montserrat, though he reached the age of seventy-eight.38 Major Edgar Marris, the commander of No. 10 Company who was wounded and taken prisoner at the Battle of Cambrai, settled in Tobago as a planter and died in what is now Guyana in 1944 at the age of fifty-seven.39 James Vose, who had been a mechanical engineer before joining the Tank Corps, moved to Australia as the local representative for a munitions company, but the aircraft he was travelling on went missing on its way from what is now Sri Lanka to Australia in 1946, and his body was never found.40

  * * *

  The Second World War gave many of D Battalion’s men a fresh taste of active service, but this time they found themselves confronting an enemy who was just as effective, but was now motivated by a merciless ideology.

  R.O.C. Ward’s stirring example of courage and sacrifice was carried on to the next generation, and his elder son Robert, who had been a civil servant in Singapore before the war, was killed in 1942 while fighting the Japanese invaders.41 R.O.C.’s other son Patrick – who had already won the Military Cross twice – served in the Royal Tank Regiment and was killed in Normandy two years later.42 His obituary in The Times shows he also inherited his father’s sporting prowess: ‘Major Patrick V. Ward, M.C., fought his battles with as much zest and good humour as he had displayed in the ring against a heavier opponent or in swiping the fastest bowler or stopping a rush in rugger … He is buried at Tourneval, and the French peasants still heap flowers on his grave.’43

  Captain Walter Smith, who had taken command of No. 12 Company at Cambrai after R.O.C.’s death, joined up again, but this time in a strange twist he joined an anti-tank unit, and was sent to France at the end of 1939. In an even stranger twist, he met his son Stephen, who was in the Royal Army Medical Corps, on the same troopship, though neither had any idea the other was there. When the Germans swept through Belgium in May 1940, Walter hurried to the town where his son’s field hospital was based but was told it had already left, so he made his way to Dunkirk where he was one of those evacuated on the famous flotilla of little ships, as was Major Patrick Ward.44

  Walter’s daughter Joan recalls that as soon as he arrived back, his first words were ‘Has Stephen come home?’, but his son had not made it to the coast and was posted ‘missing, believed killed’. Later she learned what had happened: ‘When their field hospital was evacuated, Stephen and his major … volunteered to remain behind to look after the wounded who were unable to travel. When located by the advancing German army, these unarmed medical staff and their helpless patients were taken outside, summarily shot, then buried in a communal grave … During his short life, his concern was for the good of mankind and he was faithful to the end.’45

  Walter dealt with this tragedy as many others did at the time, by simply not referring to it, or his son, again. He served throughout the war but his health was affected by disease contracted in the Middle East, and in 1949 he moved with his family to Australia. As he grew older he found peace through painting, like Claude Rowberry, and died in 1968, never having fully recovered from his wartime illness.46

  The Second World War claimed another victim in Fred Dawson from E Battalion, who had survived when his tank Elles II was knocked out near Flesquières, only to fall victim to German gunnery several decades later. Captain Dawson, who ran a food company in Yorkshire, rejoined the army at the age of forty-nine and was posted to the Dover area, where he was killed in 1940 by long-range artillery fire across the English Channel.47

  Captain Harold Head, who had been the section commander of Macintosh and Vose at Cambrai, also became a victim, though not in such a literal sense. During the Second World War he served in the RAF and was involved in training the Czech agents who assassinated the notorious Nazi Reinhard Heydrich in Prague. The terrible reprisals launched by Hitler, including the destruction of the village of Lidice, caused him so much distress that he was unable to continue, and was transferred to the Bahamas where he trained RAF aircrew to fly American planes. Harold Head died in 1989, the last of the tank commanders who had taken part in the original attack at Flers, and was given a military funeral by the Royal Tank Regiment in recognition of his place in history.48

  CHAPTER 38

  Rosemary for Remembrance

  These dramas aside, most of D Battalion’s men sought their rewards and challenges closer to home, slowly building careers and families as they drifted through what a poet famously called ‘the long littleness of life’.1

  Lieutenant-Colonel William Kyngdon was eventually replaced as commander of 4th (formerly D) Battalion in August 1918 and returned to his former regiment, the Royal Artillery. He spent the rest of the war at various training camps in England, and four years later his military career ended with a peremptory letter saying he was being given compulsory retirement due to the reduction in size of the army.2

  Kyngdon was only forty-one, had been in the army all his working life, and abroad for most of it, so it was not obvious where he would go from there. The colonies might have seemed an obvious choice, but instead he
found a perfect niche closer to home, and in 1929 became secretary of Burnham and Berrow Golf Club in Somerset, having got married the year before. He seems to have slotted comfortably into this milieu, acting as judge for a comic dog show at the local carnival in 1931 where the prizes were presented by another club member, the playwright Ben Travers whose Aldwych farces gently satirized this cosy world.3 A history of the golf club says: ‘Lt. Colonel Kyngdon was the ideal man for Burnham and was respected by all members. He left in 1947 after almost twenty years service.’4 The Colonel and his wife moved to Perthshire, where he died in 1961 at the age of eighty.5 They had no children, and no personal records or photographs appear to have survived relating to his military service.

  Captain Alfred Enoch, who had written the first letters of condolence to the families of Deborah’s crew, remained with 4th Tank Battalion throughout the war, eventually becoming adjutant. The coming of peace meant he could put his mechanical skills and love of machinery to good use, and he became a salesman before working his way up to become director and general manager of an engineering company in Wolverhampton. Unlike many survivors of the Great War he would sometimes reminisce about his experiences, and his son Russell recalls his excitement about the advance at Cambrai, his pride in the tanks, and his respect for the Germans’ military prowess.6 When the next war came he tried to return to the Royal Tank Regiment, but the authorities decided he was better employed continuing to run munitions factories at home.7

  Like a number of others in this story, Alfred’s final years were overshadowed by depression, a delayed response to the traumas of war. He was a practical man, and was taken aback when his son decided to become an actor, using his first names William Russell, though this attitude softened when he got his first film contract and he realized the money that could be made. Alfred died in 1959, when Russell’s long career in stage, television and film was already under way, though before the proud moment when he became one of the first cast members in an experimental TV series called Doctor Who.8

  Major Graeme Nixon, who had been Deborah’s section commander, later transferred to 5th (formerly E) Battalion, and in 1919 he was posted to the Tank Corps contingent seeking to bolster British rule in Ireland. He received the Military Cross as a reward for his years of service, as did Alfred Enoch, and his commanding officer gave a glowing testimonial: ‘He … has proved himself a capable leader of men. On the battlefield he was extraordinarily brave and always gained the confidence of all around him … I consider that he is an officer who should do well in any walk of life.’9

  This turned out to be teaching, and after the war Nixon returned to Liverpool and followed in his father’s footsteps by becoming a schoolmaster. Like many others, he rejoined the army in the Second World War, becoming assistant commandant of a Military Detention Barracks in Yorkshire – an austere environment where wayward soldiers were reminded of the virtues of discipline.10 After this he resumed his educational career and taught maths and physics at Quarry Bank School in Liverpool, where one pupil was often on the receiving end of a well-aimed stick of chalk. His family recall: ‘He always hit him on the head – he was a good shot’.11 A register from 1955 shows the same boy was given detention by Graeme Nixon for not doing his homework – one of a series of misdemeanours for which he was punished, including ‘impudent answer to a question’, ‘silly noises in an examination’, and, bizarrely, ‘sabotage’.12 Sadly, Graeme Nixon died in 1966 without witnessing the full rise to fame of this pupil, whose name was John Lennon.

  * * *

  Finally, what became of those most closely associated with Deborah? George Macdonald, the first commander of D51, who we left in a seaside convalescent hospital after he was wounded on 22 August 1917, eventually recovered and returned to the Western Front in a tank supply company, which sounds less glamorous than his former role but could be just as dangerous. In August 1918 he won the Military Cross for reconnoitring a route forward under heavy machine-gun fire, ensuring vital supplies got through to the fighting tanks, despite being wounded once again.13 At the end of the war he was demobilized as no longer fit for service and returned home to New Zealand.

  Unsettled by the war, he had no desire to pursue a legal career and instead became a sheep farmer, running the family’s estate where he devoted his energies to improving the land, planting trees, breeding racehorses and raising his four sons. This brought stability and prosperity but not contentment, and towards the end of the Second World War he gave up the farm and other business interests while suffering from severe depression. Fortunately he was able to resolve his inner turmoil, and after this he rekindled an early passion for history and devoted the rest of his life to researching and recording the lives of the pioneering settlers of New Zealand.14

  His own military career, which had begun with such enthusiasm, became anathema to him, according to his son:

  When we as children asked him about the war it was very difficult to get him to say anything … Later on when I grew up he said he hated the war and the only thing that kept him sane was reading – poetry and books … He refused to join the [Returned Soldiers’ Association] – he said they glorified war and he was not in [the New Zealand Expeditionary Force] anyway. The only ANZAC Day parade [he] attended [was] when he was in the Home Guard during the next war. He annoyed his local commander because though he had better medals than the others he did not wear them … So much for the war – he wanted to forget it.15

  George Macdonald died in 1967, and his son summed up his life: ‘He wished no ill to any man – he was in the literal and the accepted sense a gentleman.’16

  Frank Heap, the second commander of D51, also served for the rest of the war in the Tank Corps, though he remained with 4th Tank Battalion and saw further action before returning home in April 1919. He brought a glowing reference from his commanding officer, who described him as ‘a highly efficient officer, capable and indefatigable in the performance of his duties. Has done valuable service in action. Is an excellent all-round athlete.’17

  There was no soul-searching about Frank’s future, as his father was now in his sixties and the family’s catering and hotel business would clearly benefit from his youthful energies. Less than two years later he married Ruth Griffiths, who came from another prosperous local family and was described in the newspaper as ‘quite a young and very charming girl’.18 They moved into the Blackpool house that Frank’s parents had bought them as a wedding present, and two years later Ruth gave birth to a son. It appeared that after the storms of war, Frank could look forward to a stable and serene future.

  Yet despite everything, he still had a craving for the kind of adrenalin surge he had experienced when his tank was crawling through a German-held village, or when he came face-to-face with a group of enemy soldiers armed only with his revolver. Such excitement was not to be found in an office, and instead he turned to the great outdoors and began spending as much spare time as possible in the mountains of the Lake District.

  Frank became a keen member of the Fell & Rock Climbing Club, and his young wife also entered with enthusiasm into this hearty and male-dominated world. Photographs show their climbing and skiing trips as far afield as Skye and the Alps, Frank looking cheery and tweedy with his pipe, his wife winsome and gamine as they do battle with sheer cliffs armed only with hobnail boots and a hemp rope. The photographs also show their climbing companions, some of whom look as craggy as the mountains themselves, and this was to prove Frank’s downfall.19

  Although an enthusiastic climber, Frank was not a particularly agile one, and his wife soon began to climb harder routes, and to lead where he preferred to follow. It was hardly surprising that she fell under the spell of one of the young ‘tigers’ called A. T. Hargreaves, who had only to look at a rock face to find a new and harder route up it. In 1934 Frank, who was understandably devastated, divorced her on the grounds of adultery,20 though they all remained members of the same climbing club and social circle. Surprisingly, a photograph shows them all toget
her at the opening of the club’s new hut just three years later – Frank and Ruth staring uncomfortably into the middle distance, and A. T. Hargreaves standing between them looking lean and relaxed.21

  Frank served in the Home Guard during the Second World War, and as his once athletic frame drifted into portliness, he seemed to become the embodiment of the prosperous local businessman, being also a leading Freemason and a staunch Tory. But he carried on dreaming of mountain adventure and exploration, and he never lost his boundless energy, his curiosity about the world, or his sense of humour. He was also a kindly man, and supported his ex-wife financially after A. T. Hargreaves died in a skiing accident in 1952, though there was no reconciliation between them. His own death came four years later, and his ashes were scattered on the summit of his beloved Scafell.22 The climbing club journal described him as ‘a very good companion … a wise, knowledgeable man, always happy to help and advise’, and paid tribute again to his ‘wise outlook on life’, though it did not mention that as so often, his wisdom had been hard won.23

  As for the crewmen who died when Deborah was destroyed, their names were added to local war memorials, while their photographs, medals and memorial plaques were treasured by their families and eventually passed on to the next generations. Those who came after were aware that an ancestor had been killed in a tank, but had no idea of the details, or that they would one day be able to see it for themselves, and even climb into its rusting, wrecked interior.