Hundred Days : The Campaign That Ended World War I (9780465074907)

by Lloyd, Nick

  Sir Arthur Currie, the portly commander of the Canadian Corps, was not, as yet, thinking of Berlin. He was more concerned with how his men were faring, having been placed in one of the most difficult parts of the front, astride the Canal du Nord west of Cambrai, in low-lying, partly flooded ground that was dominated by Bourlon Wood and the German trenches east of the canal (known as the Marquion Line). He knew that if any advance on Cambrai was to be successful this high ground would have to be secured. A day after the Drocourt–Quéant Line was breached, Currie began looking at future operations, rapidly concluding that a frontal attack on the German defences in this sector would be unwise. The canal itself was a serious obstacle. The marshy ground would make progress slow; his men would have to get through defences littered with machine-guns; and they would have to do so while under heavy enfilade fire.3 Eventually Currie came up with a plan, but it would be something of a gamble. Although he had acquired a deserved reputation for thoughtfulness and the care with which his operations were prepared – his policy of ‘neglect nothing’ – the difficulties he faced in late September forced a less cautious approach.

  Currie knew that large sections of the Canal du Nord were filled with water and could not be crossed, but there was a part – about 2,600 yards wide – that was dry because it had not been finished. He ordered two divisions to cross here, and then as soon as they were over this obstacle to fan out north and east and push on through the German defences. The Canadian Corps would usually take up a front-line position of approximately 30,000 yards in width; therefore, what Currie was proposing was remarkable. Half his corps would advance on a fraction of this front across the dry canal, before two more divisions leapfrogged them further into the German defences. The audacity of Currie’s plan raised some eyebrows at GHQ. Haig even asked Sir Julian Byng, Third Army commander and someone who knew Currie well, to have a quiet word with the Canadian.

  ‘Do you realise that you are attempting one of the most difficult operations of the war?’ asked Byng, when he visited Currie three days before the attack.

  Currie looked at him sullenly.

  ‘If anybody can do it, the Canadians can do it, but if you fail,’ Byng warned, ‘it means home for you.’4

  Currie understood. He knew the odds and the risks. Because the attacking brigades would be squeezed into a tiny area before Zero Hour, the danger, as always, was that the Germans would somehow find out and shell the assembly positions with high explosive and gas, playing havoc with the men about to go over the top. Nevertheless, Currie’s staff were happy with the plan. Everything that could be done was being done. Andrew McNaughton, Currie’s counter-battery expert, was authorized to unleash his guns if the Germans shelled his men. Currie was confident that with his battle-hardened and experienced troops, thoroughly acquainted with what they were doing, supported by crack engineering and bridging units, and sheltered by a formidable barrage, all would be well. The attack went in at 5.20 a.m. on a misty, cloudy morning; the horizon lit up with the flashes of British artillery blasting away with crushing intensity. One witness said it was like ‘All hell let loose. Heavy guns, smoke screen shells, flaming oil shells and tanks as far as the eye could see were all moving along ahead of us. Just one panorama of hell!’5 Private Guy Mills would always remember the intensity of the bombardment that morning. ‘It was just like a furnace door opening,’ he remembered. ‘There was nothing but guns, you couldn’t hear anything else but guns. You couldn’t hear yourself shout.’6

  Into the smoke and fire the leading waves moved out, in long lines of heavily laden soldiers, bowed down with their equipment, including rifle, ammunition, gas mask, shovel and pick. Lieutenant-Colonel J. W. H. Joliffe, of 4th Canadian Battalion, remembered how ‘the Canal du Nord, on the map, looked like a very formidable barrier and we had been provided with, in addition to entrenching tools, shovels and picks and so on . . . in each company, with a number of ladders which were carried forward during the attack and which were supposed to be lowered and raised on either side of the canal after we had crossed it’. The men could not run – the amount of equipment they were carrying precluded anything but the most urgent manoeuvre – but they pressed on as quickly as they could, each following the man in front of him as they closed with the canal – those carrying their ungainly scaling ladders looking like something out of a previous war, perhaps from the great age of sieges in this part of Europe. ‘We moved from our jumping-off trenches under a very heavy barrage which certainly kept the Germans under cover,’ wrote Joliffe, ‘and it was only after we had crossed the Canal du Nord that we encountered any real resistance, mainly machine gun fire which caused a great many casualties but the battalion moved forward on schedule and I believe that we obtained our objective within a few minutes of the time set for us in the attack.’7

  Joliffe was right; Currie’s plan succeeded brilliantly. It was, in many respects, his masterpiece; a triumph of expert preparation, imagination and hard work; of knowing what to do and doing it. The German defenders could do little against such intensive artillery fire, with large shells tearing up their barbed wire entanglements, smashing in dug-outs and bursting over their lines in black explosions. Leutnant Hans Krieghoff of 188 Regiment, occupying the high ground at Bourlon Wood, recalled that ‘Each connection with the companies is immediately severed, our runners don’t return. Due to the powder fumes and smoke, visibility is zero . . . the enemy artillery fire blocks our rear and the British release their armoured vehicles and tanks upon us, their victims. Infantry columns staggered in-depth followed.’8 In places the canal walls had been broken down and shattered by the pounding shellfire, so the attackers were able to cross without difficulty, but in other sectors they had to secure bridges where progress was less assured. Nevertheless, Currie’s men plunged on into the battle, his divisions fanning out as planned, and pushing their way through the dense network of German trenches and tunnels to the east. Within twelve hours, First Army’s line had advanced nearly five miles on a front of nine miles. Four thousand prisoners had been taken and over a hundred guns fell into British and Canadian hands.9 It was another stunning blow; yet another chunk had been bitten out of the Western Front.

  To the south lay Julian Byng’s Third Army, which was to extend the attack and continue the push through the Hindenburg Line to the southwest of Cambrai. Apart from on the northern sector, the Canal du Nord would not be a problem – it ran away to the southwest behind Byng’s lines – but the British were up against the tough defences of the Hindenburg Line and strongly dug-in German divisions that had been ordered to stay put. There were few tanks available (at least one division had only four machines allotted to it), so Byng relied on his guns to blast his infantry on to their objectives.10 Although Third Army did not achieve a breakthrough, it gained ground and chewed up more German divisions, as had been Haig’s plan. But it was not easy. 27 September 1918 would be one of the toughest days in the history of the Western Front. Haig’s armies won seven Victoria Crosses that day – a fitting tribute to the tenacity of German resistance and the need for courage and determination of the highest order. Two of the most extraordinary acts of valour were undertaken by Captain Cyril Frisby and Lance Corporal Thomas Jackson of 1/Coldstream Guards for their actions on the Canal du Nord. Frisby, who commanded No. 2 Company, was detailed to take the canal crossing on the Demicourt–Graincourt road. The attack went in, only to founder in the face of what his citation called ‘annihilating machine-gun fire’ from a strongpoint known as Mouse Post. Realizing that unless it was captured, the attack would fail, Frisby gathered three volunteers, including Jackson, and climbed down the canal. Here the bank was dry so they were able to cross, but they had to do so under intense enemy fire. Frisby and Jackson stormed the machine-gun position, killed its occupants and secured the position. Sadly Jackson was killed later that day: typically while leading an attack into an enemy trench. Both men would be awarded the Victoria Cross.11

  Heavy resistance was to be found not only at Graincourt.
To the south, the area around Gouzeaucourt and Beaucamp – which lay in front of the Hindenburg Support Line – was quickly gaining an infamous reputation. The trenches in this sector were close together, interlocking in certain places with the German line lying along a series of ridges. They were held by the Jäger Division, which had occupied Gouzeaucourt on 12 September, and was one of the best German units in the field.12 The attack had been entrusted to Major-General John Ponsonby’s 5th Division, which was to take a number of enemy trenches before pushing off towards the village of Beaucamp. This would secure the high ground, break the back of any German resistance, and allow Third Army to close with Cambrai. The attack went in behind the standard creeping barrage, but German defensive fire proved too great. Few accounts have survived from those who took part in the attack, but the horror of what happened can be imagined. According to the divisional report, ‘owing to the intensity of enemy machine-gun fire from AFRICAN TRENCH and SMUT TRENCH, which the enemy were holding very strongly, the 1/Royal West Kents were only able to get forward a short distance’. Corporal Piggott distinguished himself by rallying his men, and, although wounded, led them to within twenty yards of the German line. But this was as far as they got, and they were hounded out of their gains by showers of stick grenades as the Germans counter-attacked. All company officers of the attacking battalions became casualties. The tanks could offer little support. The four machines supporting the brigade appeared to start well, but soon attracted the attention of German machine-guns and artillery batteries. Very quickly all were put out of action: one fell into a trap and caught fire; another ditched in the sunken road; one was hit by an anti-tank gun; and another had engine trouble and had to return to the rear.13

  For my great-uncle Tom Cotterill’s battalion, 15/Royal Warwickshire Regiment, it was an equally bleak story. Ever since the British guns had opened up, intermittent enemy shellfire had been falling on their trenches, unsettling the troops waiting to attack, showering them with dirt and sometimes causing casualties. It soon became evident that, in this sector at least, the defenders were alert, aware and very much determined to stay put. As soon as the Warwicks went over the top, they were immediately held up by heavy fire and made little progress, machine-gun and rifle fire scything through the attacking lines with deadly effect. One company managed to enter the German trenches but, as had occurred elsewhere, they could not hold on to their gains for long. In what was called ‘a noteworthy act of courage’, Sergeant T. J. Jones led a bombing party in repeated attempts to get forward, managing to cause ‘heavy casualties’ to the enemy.

  All the men of Sergeant Jones’ party were wounded, but this NCO continued to bomb the enemy alone until his supply of bombs was exhausted. He then came back and organised a second party and placing himself as first bayonet man of the party, succeeded in penetrating the enemy’s position and scattering an enemy bombing party which he forced to withdraw.14

  Jones was subsequently awarded the Military Medal. Further to the north, 14/Royal Warwicks managed to capture some ground, but were, similarly, bombed out of their position. 15 Brigade experienced better luck, however, by securing Beaucamp village and holding it against repeated counter-attacks.

  As dawn broke over the Western Front – a miserable, grey, chilly day – it was apparent that progress had been achieved, but at a cost. Third Army secured most of its objectives, but remained short of its final line, having to advance over difficult ground against some of the best units in the German Army.15 By 4 p.m. precise information on the location of Major-General Ponsonby’s brigades was unavailable, but he knew 13 Brigade had encountered heavy resistance and suffered many casualties. Despite the considerable losses, Ponsonby wanted to press the attack. He instructed his reserve unit, 95 Brigade, to push on through to the main German line (known as African Trench) as soon as possible. Orders were issued, but because not all the battalions received them, the night witnessed disjointed and unsuccessful attacks, and much heavy fighting, with the gas shelling of Gouzeaucourt Wood and the approaches to the front line doing much to disorganize the reliefs of units from the front.16 Fighting continued throughout the night and it was only by noon on 28 September that all the objectives of the previous day were in British hands, the remnants of the Jäger Division having withdrawn in the darkness. 15/Royal Warwickshire Regiment reported Smut Trench clear and patrols pushed forward into African Trench, finding groups of German wounded, some British prisoners, ten machine-guns, and many boxes of ammunition.17

  Despite the fall of African Trench and Gouzeaucourt, it had been a sobering day for 5th Division. It was not until the evening that a battery officer, Arthur Impey, found out how the attack had progressed. A runner told him that the ‘Huns’ had broken through and ‘our fellows’ were running. Although this information was incorrect – the runner had a ‘bad wind up’ – he later received confirmation that the ‘Huns had got back in African Trench’, a position to which, as Impey conceded, ‘they seem to attach an extraordinary importance’.18 In 15/Royal Warwickshire, three officers had been killed, one was lying mortally wounded, and five others had been hit. Thirty-six other ranks were dead, ninety were wounded and twenty-nine others missing.19 By the afternoon, the brigade’s front was a mess with the wounded from the Regimental Aid Post ‘coming in quicker than they could be dealt with and evacuated’. Much good work was done by the men of the field ambulance who ‘arranged for the carrying of stretcher cases over 1½ miles of broken and hilly ground which owing to the wet had become very slippery, and at the same time under heavy shell fire organized a squad from parties of German prisoners to help in evacuating the wounded’. In terms of senior officers, 27 September was one of the worst days in the battalion’s history: Major P. C. Edwards, the second-in-command, was killed and Captain E. F. Ball, the Padre, was wounded. Edwards died after coming under heavy shelling at the battalion headquarters, which was situated at the aptly named ‘Dead Man’s Corner’, a clump of trees lying along a sunken road on the Beaucamp Ridge.20

  It may have been scant consolation for the battered ranks of 15/Warwicks, but the enemy had it no easier. For the German armies in the west, 27 September was another harrowing day of seemingly endless Allied attacks, always preceded by those crushing bombardments that tore up the ground and made it seem like a sinister, flickering thunder was playing across the landscape. To stand firm against such a metal onslaught took incredible amounts of courage and resilience. Ernst Kielmayer, a German gunner with 26th Reserve Division at Cambrai, recorded in his diary the experience of coming under sustained British bombardment, including a direct hit. Three men were ‘torn apart beyond recognition’ and another was buried by earth, but fortunately dug out alive. ‘O Lord, what a Monday morning!’ he wrote.

  I am firing on gun no. 4 all day long. In between we picked up the pieces of bone and flesh, and put them in a box. I marked them with a red pencil, my companion at all times . . . so the cemetery official will know . . ., as their metal plates with names and rank could not be found. Try to pick up three heads, six arms, and feet and whatever else there is left from your friends.

  Kielmayer was understandably traumatized by his experiences. ‘If that is how three of us die,’ he wrote, ‘I hope their families will never find out.’ The following day his battery was back in action. They fired 200 shells (‘the barrel gets red hot’) but ran out of ammunition, and had to defend their position with rifles and pistols. Fortunately, they were able to withdraw after reinforcements moved up.21

  The situation facing German commanders was extremely difficult. General von Boehn, whose Army Group faced the bulk of British strength, could do little. Aerial reconnaissance of the enemy lines was impossible owing to the limitations of the German Air Force, while his defence was ‘very much impaired’ by the weak and exhausted state of his divisions. In Second Army, he reckoned that there were only three divisions completely fit for action. In Eighteenth Army there was only one.22 His subordinates tried to be optimistic. General von Carlowitz (Marwitz�
��s replacement at Second Army) reported to the Supreme Command his pride in the tenacity of his divisions. ‘Today the army has held all its positions against heavy enemy attacks,’ he wrote. ‘It is evacuating Gouzeaucourt, which it has bravely defended, only by order. I desire to express my deep appreciation to the brave defenders, particularly to the German Jaeger Division and the 84th Infantry of the 54th Infantry Division, whose superb achievements I have reported to the Supreme Headquarters by name.’23 Indeed, the defence of Gouzeaucourt had been exceptional; another example, if any was needed, of the tenacity that some German units still possessed.

  The British may not have made rapid advances – certainly when compared with the rush at Amiens – but the struggle in front of Cambrai was an indication of how important this sector was and how hard the Germans were fighting for it. Third Army faced thirteen enemy divisions, including some excellent units such as the Jäger, 6th Cavalry and 3rd (Naval) Divisions, all of which had reputations for tenacity and determination, and had been specially moved in to head off the British attacks in this sector. The only problem was that the German Army had a limited (and rapidly dwindling) number of such units that could be sent to the threatened fronts, and in order to hold the crucial Cambrai–Saint-Quentin line Ludendorff had been forced to thin out other parts of the front. To the north lay Flanders and the plain of Belgium and it was here that German reserves were at their thinnest, having been sent south in the preceding weeks. For the exhausted survivors of the attacks on 27 September, the results of their efforts may have seemed meagre, but the Western Front was crumbling. Ludendorff might be able to hold the centre, but he could not hold the flanks. On the following morning, 28 September, the Allies attacked at Ypres, and finally, this time, they broke through.