by Will Davies
Pleas from British field commanders to introduce the death penalty in the AIF fell on deaf ears in Australia. Public feeling was strongly against such a step. These men were, after all, volunteers who had travelled to a distant war not of their making. Opposition to the death penalty came down to a sense of common justice and the need to encourage volunteers. Punishment for being AWL was field imprisonment, with nine in 1,000 Australians imprisoned, compared to one per 1,000 British troops and less than two per 1,000 Canadians, New Zealanders and South Africans.
But one thing the Australians could do was fight and, in large measure, this made up for their lack of discipline, their disrespect and their general contempt for the English.
By mid-1917, the idea of a separate Australian army under Australian command was being openly espoused by newspaperman Keith Murdoch (father of Rupert Murdoch), who was highly influential and acted as an intermediary between the British and Australian prime ministers, Lloyd George and Billy Hughes. Murdoch implored Hughes to embrace the Australian soldiers' desire to form a unified Australian corps led by Australian officers and, in doing so, bring I Anzac and II Anzac together (and without General Sir Alexander Godley) under one corps. This would, it was hoped, bring due recognition and a sense of identity to the Australian divisions, which had previously been considered and referred to in communiqués as 'British' troops.
And so, on 1 January 1918, the five Australian divisions were united for the first time and called the Australian Army Corps, under the overall command of Lieutenant General William Birdwood. From May 1918, this was commanded by Major General John Monash, a Victorian engineer who became the first Australian to command the five Australian Divisions and was to take responsibility for the massive repatriation of Australian troops back to Australia after the armistice. The New Zealanders and two British divisions that had been fighting with II Anzac were renamed XXII Corps.
After Passchendaele, in late November 1917, the 45th Battalion marched 110 kilometres over eight days – a massive distance to walk by today's standards – to St Quentin-la-Motte, 3 kilometres from the English Channel. Just nine days later, the battalion moved to Péronne, on the Somme. There the men spent a miserable month, cold and housed in poor accommodation. They did not even celebrate Christmas as they were constantly on alert, being the only reserve battalion in that part of the line. The men had the opportunity to vote in the second conscription plebiscite but few men took any interest as, according to the battalion history, they were 'fatalists'.
On 8 January 1918, the battalion entrained at Péronne and moved north to Hollebeke, in Belgium, arriving there on 11 January. It was another cold winter with heavy snow; whenever the snow thawed, mud and slush made the frontline trenches very uncomfortable. Fortunately, enemy shelling caused few casualties and although the battalion was rotated in and out of the line, they had little activity.
The Allied commanders were all too aware of the situation in Russia and Italy and knew that a German offensive was likely in the coming spring. The focus turned to building defensive lines and preparing for the attack. Once the peace treaty between Germany and the Bolsheviks had been signed, in March 1918, the war on the Eastern Front ceased. The Germans quickly moved an estimated 44 divisions to the Western Front and on 21 March 1918, General Ludendorff launched 'Operation Michael' with the hope of splitting the French and British armies along the line of the Amiens to Péronne road, driving them back to the Channel and capturing Paris. Suddenly, after all the stalemate and the attrition, the war had taken on a new urgency. The Allies found themselves in deep trouble.
The offensive was devastating and the Germans quickly ripped a gaping hole in the British front and forced them back toward Amiens. The Allies' fear was that if the Germans captured the railhead of Amiens, it would seriously, perhaps catastrophically, disrupt Allied railway communication for much of Northern France and Belgium. With the British falling back and totally demoralised, the Australian 3rd and 4th divisions were rushed south to strengthen the front that extended north and south of the Somme, from west of Albert near Dernancourt to south of Villers-Bretonneux.
Concern was spreading in the British and French High Commands, and tension was growing between General Haig and the French General Pétain as to where to place reserve troops and what defensive line to hold. The objective of the Allies was clarified at a meeting of political and military leaders at Doullens on 26 March, where the newly appointed supreme commander of the Allied forces, General Foch, declared, 'We must fight in front of Amiens, we must fight where we are now. As we have not been able to stop the Germans on the Somme, we must not now retire a single inch.'3
The 45th was among the battalions sent to plug the gaps in the British line and stem the German onslaught. As part of a unified Australian Corps, they had a new pride and enthusiasm for the war ahead. The Australians were eager for a fight and welcomed the German offensive as a chance to give the enemy a good hiding. Now the Australians were in defensive positions and the Germans were in the open and running at their guns, not the reverse, as had been the case for so long and would be again in the near future.
After a hot meal – and carrying all the ammunition they could – the battalion set out from Méteren at 10 p.m. on 25 March 1918, four days after the start of the German offensive. By seven the next morning, they had marched 17 miles (about 27 kilometres) – an amazing distance to cover in just nine hours. As the battalion history records:
This march through the night was a memorable one as the route was only a few kilometres from the fluctuating line, and owing to the presence of the enemy, it was necessary to have advanced and flank guards for the protection of the main body.4
By this time, the German advance had pushed 40 kilometres into the Allied front. The Allies had lost all the hard-won ground they had taken in the previous 18 months. Now places such as Bapaume, Pozières, Gueudecourt and Stormy Trench were behind German lines. Nulla is, as he says, 'back with the old battalion again after half a year in English hospitals and various base depots and feeling good'. While Nulla may have been back, Private Lynch was still recuperating and convalescing in England, so bad were his wounds. It would be another three months before he was fit enough to return to the rigour of the frontline in France.
The 45th were rushed to Dernancourt along roads thick with French refugees fleeing before the German advance. The civilians put their faith in the Australians. A group of refugees from Hébuterne, about 12 kilometres north of Pozières, trundling west before the German advance, are reported to have stopped when they saw the Australian troops and said, 'Pas nécessaire maintenant – vous les tiendrez', meaning 'It's not necessary now – you'll hold them.'5 For their part, the Australian soldiers were confident they could live up to the local people's expectations. One was heard to tell a village woman about to join the flood of refugees: 'Fini retreat Madame – beaucoup Australiens ici!', meaning 'No more retreat Madame – many Australians here.'6
On a hillside overlooking the village of Dernancourt the 45th Battalion dug in, working all night in preparation for the anticipated dawn attack by the Germans, while below them the 47th and 48th battalions were defending a railway embankment. With a front so long and few available men, the Australians' defensive line was very thin, in places only secured by a small sentry party. One such party was Sergeant Stan McDougall and two men of the 47th Battalion, who were sent out to keep watch near a level crossing along the railway line to the north of Dernancourt. In the half light of dawn, as a low mist swirled around, Sergeant McDougall heard the distinctive slap of bayonet scabbards on the thighs of marching troops not 100 metres away. He quickly warned his men, then suddenly found himself confronted by Germans advancing on a wide front.
Immediately, German bombs burst among the small group of Australians, seriously wounding two Lewis gunners who had just opened up on the advancing line of enemy. McDougall grabbed the Lewis gun and, charging, killed two German machine-gun crews and scattered the attack. He then ran along th
e edge of the embankment, where he found himself looking down onto a party of 20 Germans crouched in potholes and shell-holes. He turned the Lewis gun on them, hosing their position with fire, and they fled. Seeing about 50 Germans who had just crossed the railway line, he began to fire on them, but by now his hands were badly blistered from the barrel casing, which had become hot. His mate Sergeant Lawrence, a station overseer from Cloncurry in Queensland, came to his aid, holding the gun so that McDougall could fire it with his uninjured hand. McDougall then charged the Germans with a rifle and bayonet, driving them off. For this he was awarded the Victoria Cross. Just eight days later, he won a Military Medal close to the same position.
By the morning of 28 March, the Germans had taken Albert, about 4 kilometres northeast of Dernancourt, and were attacking along the railway line that ran from Albert to Amiens. The Germans attacked the Australian positions on the reverse side of the railway embankment just outside the village and were driven off. During that day, nine further German attacks were made. They were not successful but, owing to the number of casualties, the 45th Battalion's B Company moved into the frontline to relieve the exhausted men of the 47th. The Germans meanwhile moved troops into Dernancourt, ready to break out of the village and storm across the railway line to attack the Australians on the hillside to the north and northwest.
On 29 March, the 45th took over the frontline extending nearly a kilometre north of Dernancourt. In Somme Mud, on 1 April, Nulla recounts that the Australians have been waving at two women in the village. The women have been waving back and pointing to indicate that the Germans are in one of the houses, but when the Australians signal for them to make their escape, they don't attempt to, as the Germans would see them. This incident is also reported by C. E. W. Bean in his chapter on Dernancourt, but he mentions one old Frenchwoman rather than two. He quotes Captain Adams of the 45th Battalion, who reported that on 31 March:
She ... pointed behind her as though the Germans were in her house. We waved to her to come over, but she shook her head. She also appeared to be using very unladylike language, probably using insulting words.7
Meanwhile, Australian snipers accounted for one German officer and 20 other ranks and on the following day, 25 Germans.
On 2 April, the 45th Battalion was relieved; but for the nine days at Dernancourt they had two of their officers and 21 other ranks had been killed and one officer and 60 other ranks wounded.
They were not out of the line for long. Information from a captured German revealed that a major attack was to be launched at Dernancourt, so the battalion moved back, taking up a position on the hillside to the northwest that overlooked the railway line and beyond it the village. In Somme Mud, the opening of the German attack is a strange, surreal, almost dreamlike sequence. From afar comes the sound of marching music, the unmistakable yet unbelievable sound of a German military band. And sure enough, as the morning mist clears, the sun glints off their brass instruments. They are leading a battalion of soldiers, with officers on horses and a line of horse-drawn transports in the rear. As the Australians open fire and the Germans fall wounded or run for Dernancourt, Nulla notices, 'Something bright lies shining on the road – band instruments' [p. 208].
There is no mention of these events in Bean's official histories nor in the history of the 45th Battalion, so Lynch's account is hard to verify. It is worth remembering that at this time Lynch was still away from his battalion recuperating from his injuries and also that, according to Bean, visibility was low due to heavy fog.
On the morning of 5 April, the much-anticipated major German attack was launched. The units holding the railway embankment were forced to retreat, and hundreds of German infantry streamed over the embankment and through a railway arch, penetrating the Australian position and capturing some of the high ground. The Australian frontline was pushed back to Pioneer Trench, on the slope. The German attack at Dernancourt was later described by Bean in the official history as 'the strongest ever met by Australian troops ... and one of the most difficult to resist'.8 It had involved three German divisions against two Australian brigades – a ratio of about six men to one in favour of the German attackers.
The 45th Battalion were brought forward to Pioneer Trench and late in the day they, along with the 47th and 49th, counterattacked. This counter-attack is the one so memorably described by Lynch in Somme Mud, where the men keep 'that perfect parade-ground formation ... despite flying bullets and falling mates' [p. 213]. Nulla goes on to muse, 'Yet they say the Australians lack discipline – the biggest lie of jealous lying criticism.' The battalion history clearly describes the attack:
The counter stroke was made with great dash, the platoons and companies keeping excellent formation and maintaining touch with the units on the flanks. As they advanced, they suffered severely from the enemy's machine-gun fire, but they kept steadily on until about a hundred yards from their objective when they charged with fixed bayonets. After some hand to hand fighting the enemy retreated in disorder, leaving behind prisoners and machineguns. The superior fighting qualities of the Australians had told and the ridge was again in our possession.9
They succeeded in pushing the Germans part of the way back down the slope, but did not attempt to go all the way and recapture the railway. As for the Australian counter-attack, Bean judged it to be 'one of the finest ever carried out by Australian troops'.10 Although the fighting caused heavy losses, the Australians did succeed in preventing the Germans from commanding the high ground to the west of Albert, which seriously curtailed German operations in the area.
The 45th withdrew from the frontline, spent a few days in support, then undertook a long and tiring march to Bussy-lès-Daours, about 12 kilometres east of Amiens. Though exhausted, not a man fell out on this long march. Arriving at their billets, they were welcomed, according to the battalion history, by the battalion band and a well-earned hot meal. In the fighting at Dernancourt, in just 14 days the 45th Battalion had suffered total casualties of 16 officers and 237 men, including seven officers and 46 other ranks killed.
Dernancourt slumbers in a low valley, bounded on one side by the railway line and on the other by the River Ancre. Looking down from the hillside on the northwest where the 45th Battalion were positioned, the view today is of a long line of rooftops above the railway embankment, dominated by the spire of the church. Behind, the rolling hills are broken in places by small wooded areas. Tree-lined roads dissect the golden yellow wheat fields. The area could almost be mistaken for southern New South Wales, around Yass, or further west at Binalong, except for the absence of gum trees and the odd hillside scoured by erosion. The railway line still passes close to the village, the railway underpass still remains and the embankment defended so gallantly by the men of the Australian 4th Division is much as it was in 1918, though an old wooden bridge the Australians fought hard to defend but had to retreat from has been replaced. Near the railway underpass is the Dernancourt town cemetery, in the same place it was during the fighting in early 1918, and now, beside it, the Dernancourt Communal Cemetery Extension, where 418 Australians are buried.
Here lie the bodies of a number of men from the 45th Battalion, including Scottish-born Lieutenant James Sutter Terras, who was killed in action on the first day of the German attack. He was a married 33-year-old schoolmaster who embarked on the HMAT Ceramic in November 1916 as part of the sixth reinforcement to the 45th Battalion. (His name appears on the war memorial in the north Sydney suburb of Hornsby.) In a letter to his wife from the officer in charge of Base Records, it stated, 'Your husband ... was shot through the head and chest by a sniper and is buried at Albert, France', adding, 'It is the policy of the Department to forward all information received in connection with deaths of members of the Australian Imperial Force.'11
Also buried there is Private Arthur David Wells (army service number 4328), another British-born Australian from Sussex. He was single and stated his trade as a stonemason, but was killed at 34. An initial report notes that he was wound
ed and believed captured, however his personal file states he was 'Missing believed to be a POW'. There were still enquiries and official letters going out to his family in late September 1918 and a Commission of Inquiry was launched to inquire into his fate. There is a note in his file that he could not be traced as a POW in Germany and it was only after Australians captured at Dernancourt were released and gave statements to the Red Cross after the war, that the circumstances of his death could be cleared up.
In November, the family finally received a letter stating that 'we deeply regret having to inform you that he is now officially reported as Killed in Action on the 5th or 6th April 1918'.12 It is interesting to note the trouble both the AIF and the Red Cross went to in trying to ascertain how individuals died and to report these findings to the next of kin. Although information travelled slowly by today's standards, it was a detailed and efficient system.
FOURTEEN
Around
Villers-Bret
It was just after first light as I made my way along the towpath. The hoot of a nightjar broke the stillness of the dawn as the mist rose, curling in wisps from the river Somme. A fish broke the surface, gulping at insects and churning the placid green water in its wake before disappearing into the murky depths. Far off, the hum of traffic on the Amiens to St Quentin road was all that broke the dawn silence. So still, I thought; in early 1918 it was not this peaceful.