As Elliott pointed out, this was the first – and perhaps the biggest – mistake: the attack surrendered any hope of surprise, ‘the supreme element in war’. The bombardment and the preliminary operations giving an ‘impression of an impending offensive on a large scale’ only made sense if there was no subsequent infantry attack. To attack after advertising it was simply suicidal.
To make matters worse for the Australians, their commanding officer, McCay, had not been consulted on the planning. He had simply been informed on 12 July – before the plan was amended – that his division was to be handed over to Haking’s command for an ‘immediate infantry attack’.
At a conference at his headquarters at Hinges on the morning of 14 July, Haking gave McCay and his British counterpart, Major General Colin McKenzie, their orders for the forthcoming attack:
Each division will attack with 3 brigades in line, each brigade with 2 assaulting battalions, and each battalion on a front of assault of about 350 yards [320 metres]. The remaining battalions of the division will be kept in reserve and will not be used for assaulting the position without orders from G.O.C. XI Corps [Haking].
That afternoon McCay briefed his brigadiers: Elliott of the 15th, Harold Pope of the 14th, and Edwin Tivey of the 8th. He outlined the plan of the attack. Two assaulting battalions from each brigade would attack in four waves. The first two waves would start from the front trenches and the others would form up behind them in the reserve line of trenches, about 250 metres to the rear. They would go over the top (or ‘hop the bags’ in Digger slang) about five minutes apart. They were under strict orders not to advance further than the German forward trench system.
To put things in perspective, at this stage only half of the Australian troops had actually seen the front line – and they had only been there for two days!
As well, Haking was, either by misinformation or by self-delusion, completely mistaken about the quality and quantity of the artillery and the ammunition available. He apparently only found out on 14 July that, while he had about the same number of guns in total as he did for his earlier attack in May 1915, instead of 300,000 shells for his field guns and 30,000 for his howitzers, he would only have 200,000 and 15,000 shells respectively. And, in addition, his gunners would not be the artillery from three experienced British divisions but rather the inexperienced gunners from two Australian divisions, the 4th and 5th, who had recently been converted from infantrymen and light-horsemen.
This was just one of the litany of blunders that sealed the fate of the men preparing to charge across no-man’s land at Fromelles. The others included: almost certain confusion resulting from an attack centred on the joining of two independent Allied forces at the Sugar Loaf; the woefully inadequate time for preparation; the inaccurate reconnaissance; the lack of a proper reserve to give flexibility to recover from setbacks as the battle progressed; the width of no-man’s land that the 15th Brigade in particular had to cross – more than twice the army’s recommended maximum; the failure to recognise that the Germans had complete visibility of the Allied lines; and the faulty systems for communication and re-supply for the attackers.
Diggers walk along the path beside the front-line trenches near Fromelles. The photo is an excellent illustration of the parapets which the troops from both sides were forced to use to protect the trenches, which were shallow because of the high water table in the area. (AWM PHOTO P00437.017)
Despite all these clouds hanging over the enterprise, McCay was delighted that his men would have the honour of being the first Australians to take part in a major battle in France. His enthusiasm was not shared by either the commander of I Anzac Corps, Lieutenant General William Birdwood, or his Chief of Staff, Brigadier General Cyril Brudenell White. At Haig’s headquarters, they both unsuccessfully tried to put their views that an attack on such a small scale would not deceive the enemy into thinking it was a major offensive and therefore would have no real point. It would sacrifice lives for no justifiable reason.
Brigadier General Harold ‘Pompey’ Elliott, commander of the 15th Brigade at Fromelles, standing at the door of a captured German divisional headquarters near Harbonnieres in August 1918. (AWM PHOTO E02855)
Pompey Elliott was also racked with doubts. On 14 July, he spotted one of Haig’s staff, Major Howard, near his headquarters at Rouge de Bour. Elliott took him aside and explained his concerns. Then he persuaded Howard to come with him out into no-man’s land and gave him a first-hand glimpse at the terrain and the risks facing the attackers. Howard was clearly moved by the 350 metres of totally exposed land that Elliott’s men would have to cover before they reached the German lines. Elliott told Howard he did not believe they had ‘an earthly chance of success’ and called on him to tell him ‘as a man’ what he thought of it.
His reply was: ‘If you put it to me like that, sir, I must answer you in the same way as man to man. It is going to be a holocaust.’ Well then, I said, if that is your real opinion, will you promise me that you will go tonight on your return to General Haig, tell him that is your opinion and that it is mine also.
He was much moved by this appeal and promised faithfully to do so. Though I have never spoken to him since or heard from him, I know he faithfully observed his promise.
Haig also paused before he sanctioned the attack with qualifications on 15 July:
Approved, except that infantry must not be sent unless an adequate supply of guns and ammunition for counter battery work is provided.
Haig’s Deputy Chief of Staff, General Butler, expanded on this order in a meeting with Generals Plumer and Monro, explaining that Haig did not want the infantry to attack
at all unless the commanders were satisfied that they had sufficient artillery and ammunition not only to capture, but to hold and consolidate the enemy’s trenches.
In addition, Butler also confirmed that because headquarters had information about the transfer of enemy reserves to the Somme, the Fromelles attack did not have the same level of expediency and could in any case be delayed, giving time for further preparations. Haking argued strongly that the attack must proceed. The record of the conference states that he
was most emphatic that he was quite satisfied with the resources at his disposal; he was quite confident in the success of the operation, and considered the ammunition at his disposal was ample to put the infantry in and keep them there.
According to Elliott, Haking also addressed the timing of the attack, scheduled for Monday 17 July:
The troops are worked up to it, were ready and anxious to do it and he considered that any change of plan would have a bad effect on the troops now.
Elliott believed that Haking was lying, seeking the glory of taking the ridge at Aubers that had eluded him for so long.
This shows that Haking wished to risk all for a spectacular success that would put himself into the limelight and was not merely anxious to divert the enemy’s attention on the Somme.
Haking spoke that which was untrue and unfounded. The infantry in the line were as a fact almost unanimously against the scheme. But they were never consulted, except to the extent that I forced my own opinion upon Major Howard.
In reality, the troops, and the Australians in particular, were almost exhausted by the rushed preparations. They had to shoulder the extra burdens of hauling supplies and ammunition up to the forward position and many had almost no sleep in the days leading up to the attack.
A remarkable interior shot of the German defences on the Western Front, showing their scale and permanence.
The preliminary seven-hour bombardment was to start at 4 am. However, heavy rain and mist interfered with the artillery’s registration (test firing to make sure they had the correct range for their targets) and Haking pushed back the artillery start time, first to 8 am, then to 11 am. But when the mist still shrouded the front at 9 am he wrote to his superiors reluctantly postponing the attack, adding:
The infantry and field artillery who are to carry out the attack are not fu
lly trained and GHQ from what was said at your conference yesterday do not appear to be very anxious for the attack to be delivered …
I should be glad to know if you wish me to carry it out tomorrow on the same programme. It is important, with these new troops that this information should be given to me as early as possible so I can issue such instructions as will minimise any loss of moral[e] owing to postponement.
In making this report to Haig’s HQ, Haking failed to mention the shortcomings he had discovered about his artillery support. General Monro was prepared to cancel the attack but he found Haig under growing pressure at the Somme, where a German counter-attack was imminent, and he received a reply from Haig that only compounded the growing confusion:
The Chief in Chief wishes the operation … to be carried out as soon as possible, weather permitting, provided always that General Sir Charles Monro is satisfied that the conditions are favourable, and that the resources at his disposal, including ammunition, are adequate both for the preparation and execution of this enterprise.
This response gave Haking considerable leeway in deciding on the next move. As Monro had already indicated he thought the resources were satisfactory, Haking was able to take advantage of Haig’s loose language (where he required only ‘adequate’ resources – a judgment call) to commit his troops to the attack.
8
HOPPING THE BAGS
It is a most pitiful thing to see them all, going about, happy and
ignorant of the fact, that a matter of hours will see many of them
dead; but as the French say – c’est la guerre.
MAJOR ROY HARRISON, FROMELLES, 1916
Haking issued his orders: a seven-hour bombardment would now start at 11 am on Wednesday 19 July and the infantry would attack at 6 pm. The die was cast and the troops continued their preparations to go into battle.
Hugh Knyvett recalled how the attack was detailed to the men who would make it:
Our company commanders gathered us in small groups and carefully explained the plan of attack. We were to take the three lines of German trenches that were clearly discernable on the aeroplane photograph which was shown us; the first wave was to take the first trench, the second jumping over their heads and attacking the second German line, the third wave going on to the third German line. When all the Germans had been killed in the first trench, those left of the first wave were to follow the third line.
In each battalion the officers inspected their troops to ensure they had field dressings and bottles of iodine to dress wounds, their gas masks, identity discs (in World War I they were made from compressed cardboard) and their pay books. Troops drew their iron rations, two sandbags, 150 rounds of ammunition for their webbing pouches, a further 50 rounds in a bandolier to be worn over the left shoulder and two hand grenades each. They made up their packs, including their rations, their greatcoats and the grenades, but left out all unnecessary gear which they then tied in bundles and labelled. These were collected and put into storage. Officers and non-commissioned officers were issued with periscopes. Stretchers were collected by their bearers and all troops filled their water bottles with boiled or chlorinated water. Every third man was also issued with a shovel. Finally, every man with a luminous compass was instructed to expose it to as much sunlight as possible to make sure it glowed at night as powerfully and as long as possible.
All the while, the engineers were flat out preparing the trenches and defences. Because of the terrain, many of the trenches filled with water, both from the high water table and from rain. Working all through the night of 16 July, the engineers had drained and laid duckboards along the entire length of the flooded Brompton Road communication trench.
Major Roy Harrison knew from his time in Gallipoli the dangers facing him and his men as he wrote to his fiancée Emily on the eve of the battle:
Last night we got sudden orders to move out of our position in the line and in less than two hours were on the way to a new scene of action which we reached at two o’clock this morning. We know why we have been pulled out, for we are going in to capture a German position. By the time this reaches you, the result will be known to you through the paper, so, failing any bad news, you may take it that all is well … it is no use worrying, as I am quite satisfied that what is to be, will be, and nothing can alter it for good or evil.
The men don’t know yet what is before them, but some suspect that there is some thing in the wind. It is a most pitiful thing to see them all, going about, happy and ignorant of the fact, that a matter of hours will see many of them dead; but as the French say – c’est la guerre.
The rushed nature of the attack was evident everywhere. Only the first two waves of the Australian attackers had even been issued with steel helmets. The rest were left to combat the coming maelstrom of lead in their slouch hats, for the first and only time on the Western Front. This, of course, would add immeasurably to their casualties.
An informal portrait of Major Geoffrey McCrae, poet and architect, who was killed as he led the 60th Battalion at Fromelles. He had previously survived the Gallipoli campaign. (AWM PHOTO P02896.001)
From the start, the artillery played catch-up. Some of the Australian batteries had been granted leave, then had their orders cancelled and were rushed back into position. Some hadn’t even made it into their positions until after the original start time on 17 July. Yet they were the key weapon on which Haking relied, as he said in his order read out to all troops prior to the attack:
When everything is ready our guns consisting of some 350 pieces of all descriptions, and our trench mortars, will commence an intense bombardment of the enemy’s front system of trenches. After about half an hour’s bombardment the guns will suddenly lengthen range, our infantry will show their bayonets over the parapet, and the enemy, thinking we are about to assault, will come out of his shelters and man his parapets. The guns will then shorten their range, and drive the enemy back into his shelters again. This will be repeated several times.
Finally, when we have cut all the wire, destroyed all the enemy’s machine-gun emplacements, knocked down most of his parapets, killed a large proportion of the enemy, and thoroughly frightened the remainder, our infantry will assault, capture and hold the enemy’s support line along the whole front.
The objective will be strictly limited to the enemy’s support trenches and no more.
Wednesday 19 July dawned clear, with visibility to the horizon. During the morning, as they tensely counted down the hours, many soldiers wrote a final letter to their loved ones. Major Geoffrey McCrae, a 26-year-old architecture student and poet before being promoted to lead the 60th Battalion, wrote to his family:
Today I lead my battalion in our assault on the German lines and I pray God I may come through alright and bring honour to our name. If not I will at least have laid down my life for you and my country which is the greatest privilege one can ask for. Farewell dear people the hour approacheth.
Pompey Elliott scribbled a note to his wife Kate:
I am writing this in the morning and about 6 o’clock this evening we will start a battle. Nothing like what is going on down on the Somme, but in other wars it would be a very considerable battle indeed. I have taken every precaution I can think of to help my boys along, and am now awaiting the signal which will launch so many of my poor boys to their death. They are all eagerly awaiting the signal, and we hope to pound the enemy’s trenches that we won’t have much loss at all … I am going to watch the assault from our front line. I cannot stay back here. If mischance comes I can only say God bless and keep you my own dear little true wife and helpmate and our dear little pets comfort you always … my will is in the safe in the office.
Others, like Captain Waldo Zander of 30th Battalion, were naively optimistic at the chance to take part in the attack (or ‘a stunt’ as they called it):
A stunt! We knew little what it meant, but to us it seemed something wonderfully new and exciting – a chance for a fellow to win his laure
ls and make good.
One of a series of photos taken by a Digger at Fromelles just prior to the start of the battle. At great personal risk, Corporal Charles Lorking took the shot before hopping the bags himself. He survived the battle and the war. (AWM PHOTO A02555)
In the front line, waiting for the bombardment, Major Roy Harrison, had a clear and perilous role. He had been directed to lead the 54th Battalion’s first wave, taking with him six signallers who would roll out two telephone wires to be used to set up a battalion headquarters. He knew the hardest part would be surviving the opening charge and making it across the vast no-man’s land unscathed. Not only would they have to cross the rough featureless flatlands in front of them, they would also have to clamber across what was euphemistically named the River Laies. In reality the Laies was little more than a drainage canal that ran diagonally across no-man’s land from behind the Sugar Loaf to enter the Australian lines between the 15th and 14th Brigades’ positions, but in various parts it was a genuine obstacle, about two or three metres wide and too deep to wade through.
Harrison and the others waiting for their moment of truth could only hope that their leaders’ optimistic evaluation of the task before them would become a reality and that the enemy would be so damaged and shocked by the planned bombardment that the attackers could cross the no-man’s land with minimal casualties.
Our Darkest Day Page 10