At zero I saw the tanks waddle out and our boys follow them at a distance of about a hundred yards or so. The tank right in front of me got ditched almost as soon as they started, and the boys went on and left it. By what I saw of the tank crews afterwards, it was a question whether some of them had their hearts in this fight. Our guns opened at the same time, but not a shell was to be seen bursting on the Hun lines. Pretty soon the Hun opened with artillery and machine-guns, and the bullets flew around thickly. I ducked more than once as sparks of fire were flicked up in front of our trench. The Hun commenced to put up lights now, and during one lot that lit the place up like day, I saw a sight that I’ll never forget. Advancing along the side of the spur as if they were on parade, with their rifles held at the high port, was a line of our boys. I think that they were the third wave, and there were gaps here and there, and in one or two places big spaces. With such intense machine-gun fire, there was no need to inquire what was happening. When the lights died down, the scene vanished in the gloom. I thought that I was all on my own until I went for a bit of a walk under the bank, and there, in a dugout, found a cold-footer of the 12th Brigade, who had funked it at the last minute. He had such a plausible tale that I did not tumble to him till afterwards. As daylight came, the first objects that we made out were the tanks – but, alas, they seemed to be in every place except where they were most needed, with one or two exceptions. One I saw, apparently over the Hun trenches on the outskirts of Riencourt and working along to the right. Even this one, after going a few hundred yards headed back to the rear. A tank directly in front of me was stuck in a shell hole, and its crew were tinkering around it. Later another tank came to its assistance, but it seemed to me that it should have supported our troops instead of attending to other business in the back area. A third was between Bullecourt and Riencourt, and, as I watched it, it started to move towards the Hun wire. On reaching the wire, it burst out in flames – apparently no man escaped, for I saw none leave it. Another was retiring when a shell burst at its side. The crew jumped out, one at a time, and ran to shelter. Several others were burning fiercely, belching out dense clouds of black smoke, and they continued to burn for hours. What with one thing and another, not a tank escaped. One did get back past Noreuil, I believe, but a shell caught it even there. Their work had been of the most unsatisfactory kind; some of the crews were good, and some bad, but they were the cause of disaster to us and they never received the least sympathy. Right up until the stunt on 4 July 1918 at Vaire Wood, where they fully redeemed their name among us, the mention of tanks brought forth abuse and curses from every Australian and at one time we even heard that the authorities were thinking of doing away with them.
Later on a couple of English officers came round, they were very dubious as to the success of the stunt. As I could not see any Aussies in the open I knew that they were in the Hun trenches, and I remember telling these officers that once our boys got in they’d take some driving out. As we were sitting up watching things, a Hun over in Bullecourt must have seen us, as he turned his machine-gun on us. The two officers got away without being hit but, for an hour after that, if I showed my head, over would come a shower of bullets. Nevertheless, I managed to keep an eye on the Hindenburg Line, and every now and then I saw a few Diggers get out of it and bolt for our line, and I also saw about 30 Hun prisoners come back on their own without any escort. When they came near the ditched tank they held their hands above their heads. They seemed amazed at the thing. One boy came right past me and when he had gone about a hundred yards a shell burst close alongside him. Down he went like a log. Several of us were on the point of going out for him, when a man who was nearer ran and picked him up and brought him back to the embankment. They had barely gone 50 yards from the place where he was hit when another shell burst in the same spot. If it had been left to us to go and get him, we would have been just about picking him up when the second one came, and probably we would have received the same dose.
An hour or so after daylight I saw some cavalry scouts going forward. They were in full fighting togs, and the amount of stuff hanging onto them and their horses was enormous. Poor beggars, I truly pitied them, for they never had a ghost of a hope, and they very soon caught it in the neck. Of course, by this time we all knew that something was wrong, and we received a fair notion of how many machine-guns were working by the way they let go at one of our aeroplanes which went over to size up the stunt. There seemed to be so many bullets in the air that one almost wondered that they did not jam each other up there. The suspense at this stage was very great, especially for those at the various battalion headquarters. I was told afterwards that, at our battalion headquarters, the following conversation took place. Captain Harold Wanliss (the adjutant): ‘I’m going to ask you once again, Colonel, to let me go. We’ve a good idea now of what’s happened, and I can’t be any use here. I feel I ought to be up there doing what I can to help the fellows. God knows what has happened to Jacka and the rest of them, and I can’t stand the suspense.’
Colonel Peck: ‘Look here, Wanliss, do you think that it’s an easy matter for me to stay here glued to this damned dugout, simply waiting for news?’
‘All the more reason why I should be out there sending you information.’
‘Wanliss, listen to me. You’ve been a soldier long enough to know that it’s sometimes harder to stick this waiting than it is to fight. Your idea is to leave me all alone with my responsibilities.’
‘Well, Colonel, if you put it that way, I’ll not ask, again.’
Long afterwards we found out that our C.O. had a special reason in holding Wanliss back; he felt that he was a man whom Australia might badly need some day, and he did all he could to prevent him from thrusting himself into unnecessary danger. As time went on I became as hungry as a hunter, and as I could see no-one who had any certain information, I made up my mind to go back to Noreuil and find out what was happening, and also obtain something to eat. By this time it was getting on towards midday, and I had not long to wait before several boys came back who told us the most terrible things imaginable. As others arrived we were able to form a fair notion of what had happened. When zero hour came, and the first wave went off, it had very soon overtaken the tanks, which were mostly floundering around close in front. Some of them even fired on our own men, but no-one knows precisely how many they killed. As it was fatal to hesitate and wait for the tanks, the line advanced alone. As soon as it came in sight of the Huns the massacre commenced, the enemy lining his parapet and shooting down our boys like rabbits. Lots of them reached the wire, but as it had not been cut, they had to run along it until they came to an opening. This turning to a flank caused them to bunch together; and they fell in heaps on the wire and in front of it. The wonder is that any of them reached the trench. But reach it they did, and took the enemy’s front-line.
By this time the first and second waves were mixed up, and as the second wave had to take the second trench, it was a job to tell who was charged with this duty and who was not. Those who did attempt it were shot through the head as soon as they showed themselves. It was here that Captain Williamson was last seen. He got out of the first trench, and, with revolver in hand, was making for the second trench all by himself. Precisely how he met his death no-one knows. For a long while afterwards there were rumours that he had been taken prisoner, but those who knew him best knew that Lofty would rather die than be taken by the Huns. He used to say so himself. If he had a chance, I know that a few Huns must have breathed their last before they finished him. I have heard men say afterwards that he showed bad judgement in getting out the way he did, and that his place was to induce others to jump out first. I’m positive that Lofty did the only thing left for him to do. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, where a leader like Lofty goes, others will follow. He took a risk and it failed, but, no matter what he did, the result of the day could not have been different.
Captains Fred Stanton and Bob Orr were both killed in much the same way, set
ting an example to their men. No matter what men like these did, they could not overcome the obstacles put in their way by General Gough and his staff. The tanks which were to make things so easy had all failed, but, on account of them, the artillery was not being used. Fighting through the communication trenches, our men reached and took the second trench, and after a while it developed into a bombfight up and down the trenches and communicating trenches. As noone could get back to the rear for supplies without being fired on at close range, it cut off all hope of help, and it was just a case of whose bombs could hold out the longest. The Hun could bring up all the bombs he wanted, and it was not long before this inequality began to tell. Our boys used up all they had, then used up all the Hun bombs they could find, and at last they were searching the dead to find them. Captain Murray, V.C., of the 13th, was here, there and everywhere, and, when at last he saw no other way to escape capture, he gave the order: ‘Everyone for himself.’ There were lots who never heard it, and fought on until surrounded by Huns who came in on them from the rear and the sides. Those who tried to break away were killed like flies, and it was only the foxy ones, who used their heads, that succeeded. Numbers leapt out and lay in shell holes until darkness set in, but those who lay ‘doggo’ too close to the German lines were collected by Hun patrols and sent back to Germany. Of course there were no end of wounded, who were helpless; the dugouts were full of them. One man deserves mentioning – John Snugs. When it was ‘Everyone for himself’ he refused to go, and stayed with the wounded.
One of my pals who escaped told me that he witnessed a queer incident; he was hiding in a shell hole and he saw a German stand up and beckon to an Aussie in an adjoining hole. The German called out: ‘You come – be prisoner’. The Australian bawled out: ‘You go to b— hell,’ and, getting out of his shell hole, ran for his life. My friend was too full of his own troubles to observe the result. A little while before this the battalion had received a number of new officers from Australia, and, out of 22 of our officers who went into the battle, there were only three that came out with a whole skin. It was such a mix-up that men of different battalions were hopelessly intermingled, and there are no end of men who died without anyone near them knowing who they were. There were deeds done that earned V.C.s, but in the confusion they were overlooked. The 16th Battalion all gave the palm to a corporal of the 14th who acted like a superman; but who he was no-one knew; and we never found out. Men like that did not live long that day.
After the enemy had recovered his trenches (six to seven hours after our boys reached them), he began collecting our fellows who lay all over the place. In some cases the Huns put waterproofs over them to protect them from the dreadful weather, and in some cases our stretcher-bearers were shown the way to where wounded men lay; the general accounts given by the stretcher-bearers showed that they received some assistance from the Huns, and were shown much consideration. Of course this only applied to badly wounded men lying out in front of the wire. When the stretcher-bearers finished their work, they were all firmly convinced that, on this side of the Hun wire, they had left no-one except the dead. Some of the wounded beyond the Hun line lay there until next day, but how they ever lived through that night is difficult to imagine, for it snowed and sleeted, and was bitterly cold. Several boys who have returned from Germany have told us this. Numbers of those who were taken prisoner were marched back through Riencourt and were caught in our barrage, getting a rough handling. Two of them hid until night came on, and then sneaked back into our lines.
That afternoon, as hardly any of our brigade were left, some of the 13th Brigade came in to hold our original front-line. The Huns had taken a thousand of our boys prisoners – it was easily the worst disaster that ever happened to our brigade. From noon onwards the Hun just plastered Death Valley with shells, and it was a most unhealthy place. I saw some of the eighteen-pounder crews beat for their lives – of course, only the surplus men; no matter what happened, sufficient men to work the guns stayed by them as long as they were in a condition to be fired. All of us crawled into dugouts in the bank, and even there it was far from safe. There was a dugout about 50 yards down from mine which was considered safe and was crammed full. The unexpected happened, and a shell burst right at the doorway, killing and maiming several. In front of my cubby-hole was a bomb dump, and a shell lobbed almost in it, blowing boxes and bombs all about the place. In many cases the pins had been blown out, and the bombs were going off all around. There were three of us in this place and we did some tall guessing, wondering if any were going to fall in our hole. As we only had a couple of waterproofs over our head, we knew the bombs would tickle us up if they happened to lob on us. After the rumpus had subsided, I looked out, and saw one of the hacks tied up on the other side of the dump from that on which the shell had landed. The poor beast was trembling with terror, and I’ll never forget the grateful look I received from him upon going over to him. There were several traces of blood on him, but they did not seem serious wounds. Some of the bombs had been blown near him, and as he was tied up he had to stand and take all that came his way. I did not know what to do with him, as it was not safe to take him away. So I let him go and tried to drive him off, but he was not going to leave me – he refused to budge. Just then his groom came up and took him. Later the poor neddie died, and his groom received a good telling-off for not giving his horse a little consideration. If ever a horse tried to speak that old fellow did, and he came nearer to it than any horse I’ve ever seen.
After this another shell came very close and blew in the bank on several boys a little farther up from me. No-one noticed it for quite a while until one of their pals came to look for them; then by digging hard they were rescued, just in time. About this time we lost several men in that way. One, Corporal ‘Red’ Foster, lost his life the day before the buckshee hop-over. He dug a shelter which fell in on him. The man next to him had his head in a blanket which retained enough air to keep him alive until they were found; but it was too late for Red Foster.
Eyewitness Page 6