by Peter Hart
So in the end was General Sir Douglas Haig right? In fact, as we have seen, much of the responsibility for the Allied strategy adopted in 1916 was not his. The imperatives of Continental alliances meant that he was restricted by the broad framework dictated by the ‘senior’ partner in the Entente Cordiale. It was France and the still omnipotent General Joseph Joffre that determined the shape of the Allied strategy in 1916. That gainsaid, then yes—the broad thrust of Haig’s strategy in 1916 was probably correct. War is a Pandora’s Box, which once opened inevitably brings awful sacrifices. Haig’s way was excruciatingly painful but it was the only realistic way at the time. During the Second World War the British evaded the brunt of the massive casualties rendered inevitable by modern Continental war; yet the butcher’s bill still had to be paid—this time by the soldiers of the Soviet Union who died in their millions to slowly grind down the forces and will of the German Third Reich over four long years. On the occasions when British forces were involved in serious fighting in attacks against prepared positions they, too, suffered serious casualties. There was still no back door, no painless route map to success. In war someone always has to suffer.
Yet, surely Haig and his senior subordinates should have blushed in retrospect at the number of tactical mistakes that were made—and worse, endlessly repeated—during the course of the Battle of the Somme? There seemed to be no limit to the number of times that it had to be demonstrated to them that isolated attacks on a narrow front would not succeed without overpowering artillery to devastate everything in both that and the adjoining sectors. The British rarely seemed to realise that an attack to ‘improve’ a tactical position did not do so unless it succeeded. Too often there was no proper analysis of how many guns and shells needed to be fired to subdue a given frontage and depth of trench lines. And there seemed to be no limit to their optimism that the German Army and the entire German Empire stood ready to collapse if there was just one more push towards Bapaume.
There was still no clear realisation that the techniques of ‘bite and hold’ offered the best way forward at this stage of the war: attacking on a wide front, after a devastating short bombardment, using a creeping barrage to chaperone the infantry forward, but only seeking to advance up to 1,500 yards, before carefully consolidating behind a standing barrage wall of shells that could smash to pieces any attempted German counterattack. This was the way to kill the maximum number of Germans with the mininium of Allied casualties. But it was slow. It demanded logistical preparations that would have daunted a Hercules, the deployment of thousands of guns, the expenditure of millions of shells, and of course it offered no hope of a breakthrough, no hope to an end to the war in 1916, perhaps not even in 1917. Although Rawlinson in particular clearly understood much of the intellectual arguments for ‘bite and hold’, the British were continually tempted by the chimera of short-cuts and temporary expedience, constantly attempting to cut corners to success and ending up losing their way time and time again. Well into 1917, Haig continued to order attacks that attempted to achieve penetration of all three German trench lines, which in watering down the strength to the artillery barrage on the front line predestined their failure.
The massed guns and fast developing artillery techniques were the real new weapons of war that emerged during the Battle of the Somme: the tremendous barrages creeping or standing; the gradual acceptance of the prime importance of counter-battery fire to neutralise or destroy the German guns; the use of the photographs and artillery observation aircraft of the Royal Flying Corps to reach behind the German lines and allow the guns to strike them where it would hurt most; the introduction of new ideas of sound and flash ranging to uncover the location of concealed German batteries. The vastly expanded Royal Artillery surely learnt its trade at the Battle of the Somme. The gunners quickened their gun drill and the artificers learnt how to keep their guns going in the most adverse of circumstances, experience that would stand them in good stead when under pressure later in the war. Their officers mastered the techniques and mathematics of accurate ranging, appreciated the value of meteorological corrections and learnt how to prepare the complex gun programmes that lay behind the deadly marvel that was the creeping barrage. It was only when the British Army learnt how to use their massed artillery to the maximum possible effect that they would sweep to victory against a severely worn down and weakened German Army in 1918. But first they had to learn to range their guns accurately without prior registration—predicted fire was still not possible in 1916. Of course, alongside the infantry, the artillery was just the most important element of the burgeoning ‘all-arms battle’ that encompassed aircraft, machine guns, mortars, gas shells and the as yet unfulfilled promise of tanks. The all-arms battle demanded a total mastery of logistics to gather the weapons of war, to weld them together as one, ready to strike at the same place at the same time and thereby maximise the effect on an enemy that had been worn down to the point where it can no longer respond sufficiently robustly to the challenge it faced. There was a learning curve and the British Army slowly ascended it, though occasional, heart-stopping ‘big dipper’ moments still occurred right to the very end of the war.
And what of the men? Let us first pay tribute to the courage and indomitable defence put up by the men of the German Army. From start to finish they fought as heroes: their artillery engaging in a never-ending duel with the British and French artillery; the infantry stoically enduring the horrendous artillery bombardments liable to crash down on them at all times of the day and night only to emerge time after time to man their machine guns and fight to the death, or launch a desperate counter-attack to retrieve some lost trench or copse. In truth, some did crack under the awful strain, or ran at the last moment as the glittering British bayonets approached them, and who indeed can blame them? There was even a moment near the end of September 1916 when it looked as though Haig might be right and the German Army was losing its collective will to resist. However, their infantry and artillery reserves arrived in time and collectively they fought on revitalised. Overall it was a supreme example of sustained courage in one of the greatest defensive battles ever fought in the history of warfare.
And the British? If this book has achieved anything, I hope it will be a renewed respect for the British soldier at war. All of them. Not just the gallant infantry, but the men of the Royal Artillery, the Royal Flying Corps, the Royal Engineers, the Army Service Corps, the Army Ordnance Corps—everyone and anyone that was sucked into the gaping maw of the Somme. Not just the usual soldier poets, the tragic young working-class heroes and the mounds of dead or wounded. Let us not forget other less popular stereotypes: the ordinary soldiers and gunners who did not see themselves as victims, the staff officers ground down by overwork and responsibility, the brigadier general risking his life to see what was happening to his men, a few arrant cowards intent only in dodging their fate, the sanctimonious padres and the ‘blood and guts’ old colonels. All of them had lives that they put at risk in the cause of their country and each in their own way did their best in that cause. Whether it was worthwhile or even necessary is a larger question that should trouble us all. Once a nation is committed to war then someone has to pay the levy in blood. Let one of those who had to endure the war have the last word as to whether it was worth it.
I do not think we are any nearer the finish than a year or so ago, except for the fact that many hundreds of thousands more are dead on both sides. I am convinced that the end can only come that way and that at the end there will be nothing but an enormous barrage of enormous shells on both sides and that whichever side has the last few infantry to face it will win. That is if both sides don’t get nerve shattered to death before and give in from pure exhaustion and hatred of it all.1
Captain Philip Pilditch, C Battery, 235th Brigade, Royal Field Artillery, 47th Division
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all the following people and institutions.
My lovely wife, Polly Napper who keeps
the safely on the straight and narrow.
Promising author Keith Lowe who has been an absolute diamond throughout the difficult gestation of this book. In his day job as an editor he towers above any lesser mortals and brought a welcome sense of humour to what must have been a very difficult task. Thanks Keith!
All the designers and copy editors at Weidenfeld and Nicolson, particularly Jo Murray, Jo Saunders and Gwyn Lewis.
Nigel Steel, although he manifestly failed to get me to properly understand what a split infinitive is and how to avoid it. The best pal you could wish for over the last ten years.
All in the IWM Department of Documents. Special thanks to Rod Suddaby, still a demon fast bowler as he speeds into his mid-50s, and the proud custodian of an archive that never fails to astound me the more I use it. Also special thanks to the very wonderful Tony Richards, and the three students who helped the out when times were hard: Gary Speak, Colin McDonald and Mark Ashcroft.
All in the IWM Sound Archive (Margaret Brooks, Richard Hughes, Richard McDonough and John Stopford-Pickering). It is a pleasure to work with people who have been so quietly supportive over the past few years.
Peter Boyden and the strangely enigmatic figure of Simon Moody at the National Army Museum.
All in the IWM Photo Archive. Particular thanks to Rose Gerrard, Richard Bayford Glyn Biesty, Damon Cleary, Greg Smith and Gordon McLeod who collectively have the patience of a saint being threatened by some peculiarly unpleasant demise.
Bryn Hammond for the use of his long awaited (particularly by his supervisor) thesis The Theory and Practice of British Tank—Other Arms Cooperation on the Western Front in the Great War. A work of genius in the making and another true pal.
Chris McCarthy who is definitely a father figure to a whole generation of IWM historians. His book The Somme: The Day by Day Account is a classic.
Gary Sheffield and John Bourne who were kind enough to allow the early access to their much-anticipated book Douglas Haig: War Diaries and Letters 1914–18 (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, forthcoming 2005) and thus saved the a great deal of time and trouble. I owe particular thanks to Gary Sheffield who as a historian combines the manly thrust of Hubert Gough, with the determination and graft of Douglas Haig.
The irrepressible Max Arthur who gave the a slim hope that one day my books too might sell.
John Terraine and Correlli Barnett, of course, who began it all as far as people of my generation are concerned.
Robin Prior and Trevor Wilson who have provided an easily accessible, cool analysis which encapsulates so much that others have been only dimly reaching for. Their book Command on the Western Front is a marvellous piece of sustained argument.
As always I hope this book makes the reader want to read more from all the fantastic sources I have accessed. This book is just the tip of a very large iceberg. The various archives hold thousand of collections and there are hundreds of great personal experience books that add to our picture of the Somme. I would earnestly thank all the copyright holders I have been able to contact and beg the forbearance of those I could not trace. Thanks to all of you.
The quotations from letters, diaries, personal accounts and oral history interviews used in this book have occasionally, where necessary, been lightly edited for overall readability. Punctuation and spellings have been largely standardised, material has occasionally been re-ordered and irrelevant material has been omitted, usually without any indication in the text. Nevertheless, changes in the actual words used in the original sources have been avoided wherever possible.
Image Gallery
ABOVE LEFT General Sir Douglas Haig (Q 23659)
ABOVE Lieutenant-General Sir Hubert Gough (Q 35835D)
LEFT Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Rawlinson standing on the steps of his headquarters at Querrieu Château (Q 4032)
ABOVE 8-inch howitzers of the 39th Siege Battery, Royal Garrison Artillery in Fricourt-Mametz Valley (Q 5817)
OPPOSITE PAGE
TOP General Joffre, General Sir Douglas Haig and General Foch walking in the gardens at Beauquesne (Q 992)
BELOW The 1st Lancashire Fusiliers fixing bayonets prior to the assault on Beaumont Hamel, 1 July 1916 (Q 744)
TOP Lochnagar mine crater at La Boisselle (Q 4000)
ABOVE British 18-pounder in action in the Carnoy Valley (Q 4066)
OPPOSITE PAGE
TOP A 15-inch howitzer in action at Englebelmer Wood, 7 August 1916 (Q 4196)
BELOW Troops of the 34th Division advancing on La Boisselle, 1 July 1916 (Q 54)
TOP British troops in the entrance to a German dugout in the Dantzig Alley rench in Fricourt (Q 814)
ABOVE Two German dead in a front line trench (Q 126)
TOP Aerial photograph showing the sector between Puisieux-au-Monts and Serre (Neg No 21 Box 7003 1916)
ABOVE German observation post in Trônes Wood, 10 August 1916 (Q 862)
ABOVE New Zealand troops on the Amiens-Albert Road, September 1916 (Q 1244)
OPPOSITE PAGE
TOP Men of the 4th South African Regiment cleaning their Lewis Guns in Carnoy Valley, July 1916 (Q 4018)
BELOW Australians resting by the side of the road (E(AUS) 19)
TOP Mud-bespattered Canadians returning from the trenches (CO 997)
ABOVE Thiepval, September 1916: the heap of bricks in the centre is the remains of the Château (Q 1439)
OPPOSITE PAGE
TOP A group of Royal Fusiliers after the capture of Thiepval on 26 September 1916 (Q 1398)
BELOW A dead British soldier in a trench near Guillemont, September 1916 (Q 3964)
TOP & ABOVE Aerial photographs showing the effects of artillery fire on Mouquet Farm (Q 56399 and Q 56397)
TOP A Mark I tank (C19 Clan Leslie) of ‘C’ Company in Chimpanzee Valley prior to the attack, 15 September 1916 (Q 5574)
ABOVE German prisoners captured at Thiepval, 26 September 1916 (Q 1336)
TOP A 6-inch howitzer being hauled by manpower through the mud near Pozières (Q 1490)
ABOVE German gun captured by the Royal Naval Division at Beaucourt, November 1916 (Q 4570)
TOP German dead covered in flies at Guillemont, September 1916 (Q 4253)
ABOVE Digging a communication trench through Delville Wood (Q 4417)
TOP The skeleton of a dead German at Beaumont Hamel (Q 2041)
ABOVE A group of French and British troops, December 1916 (HU 92014)
APPENDIX A
Life in the Trenches
EXISTENCE IN THE TRENCHES of the Somme could be a short and brutish experience. Within the range of the roaring guns there was no safety in numbers, no genuine shelter from the storm, no real peace of mind. The stresses imposed would be unbearable to the modern mind—yet the vast majority of men endured everything that was thrown at them. Every time the men went forward into the front line they knew that there was a fair chance that they might never return. Whether they were holding the line or about to make an attack, they knew that their lives had reached a distinct crossroads. They hoped to survive unscathed, but they naturally feared death or the type of wound that would leave them crippled for life.
The approach of the infantry was usually made through the dark claustrophobia of the cramped communication and support trenches that criss-crossed the battlefield like a maze. On they plodded led by guides—usually they had no idea of where they were going or what they would be doing. When they got to the front line they found it a far cry from the neatly regimented trenches they had hitherto encountered in training. The carefully constructed parapet, revetting, firestep, duckboards, regular bays and parados were almost entirely absent. Here the trenches were often little more than crude muddy ditches, or shell holes chained together to make a rough line. Often they had been hewn out by desperate men who knew that they had to get under cover fast or die. Only if left undisturbed would the more sophisticated elements of trench warfare gradually be added. But the trenches were rarely left undisturbed for long.
German shell fire was the
bane of the infantry’s lives. If they survived for a few days, the men soon began to learn how to identify by sound the various types of shells. One common light shell fired by the 77-mm gun, equivalent to the British 18-pounder, was known as the ‘whizz-bang’—which perfectly described what it did.
‘Whizz-bangs’ are not very jolly when fired exactly at you, as they were at the company headquarters; as Ethel says, ‘It is not the bullet I mind, it is the bang!’ So with the ‘Whizz-Bangs’—when fired at you, the ‘Whizz’ part is almost absent, only lasts a fraction of a second and then there comes the sharp ‘Bang’. It is quite startling, but is over so soon that it is really not so bad as the larger shells which one hears coming some time before. In their case the agony is prolonged.1
