Wounded staggering back along the roads behind the battlefield told artillerymen of the horror. Lieutenant Frank Lushington, Royal Garrison Artillery, said he heard of ‘whole companies mown down as they stood, of dead men hung up on the uncut German wire like washing, of the wounded and dying lying out in No Man’s Land in heaps.’148
Early battle reports reaching Hunter-Weston’s headquarters at Marieux, 10 miles west of Serre, gave a false picture of events. He described these reports as ‘very rosy, to the effect that all the German front line had been taken.’149 In fact, not one report received by VIII Corps before 8.40 a.m. even suggested anything had gone wrong. But neither scandal nor cover-up was afoot. The problem lay with a confluence of factors: heavy casualties among regimental officers who normally sent the reports; delayed and intermittent communication between headquarters; and over-optimistic observers whose visibility was obscured by the smoke of battle. Hunter-Weston believed the 31st had obtained a footing in Serre, the 4th had nabbed two lines of German trenches, the 29th was through Beaumont Hamel, and X Corps to the south had snatched a vital German stronghold known as Schwaben Redoubt, near Thiepval.150 The only interpretation an optimistic Hunter-Weston could have formed on the basis of this information was that VIII Corps was progressing not quite to plan and very slowly, which was actually very different from the the disaster unfolding.
Back on the battlefield, the mechanical nature of the attack guaranteed the killing would continue. It was a point Captain Stair Gillon, 1st KOSB, later seized upon: ‘If the G.O.C. [General Officer Commanding, Major-General de Lisle of the 29th] could have flown or rather hovered over the scene for ten seconds the attack would have been countermanded. . . . But the terrible thing about war is that an attack once launched can rarely be broken off. Those in control don’t and can’t know what is going on in front.’151 So it was that several follow-up battalions in 4th, 29th and 31st Divisions were destined to repeat the tragedies of the leading battalions, despite desperate attempts to stop them.
Fourth Division headquarters told 10th and 12th Brigades to stop their infantry from crossing into no-man’s-land until a clearer picture of events was established.152 These brigades were timed to cross into no-man’s-land at about 9.30 a.m.; the message from divisional headquarters — sent in view of the manifestly heavy losses — went out at 8.35 a.m. Already there was some confusion at brigade headquarters over the flares seen rising skyward — one white flare meant the attack had been stopped, and three signalled objectives reached — and thus over how 11th and 143rd Brigades had actually performed. It was against this backcloth and with gradual realisation of the 11th’s heavy early losses that 4th Division headquarters issued its order, which began slowly filtering down the chain of command. Captain William Carden Roe, adjutant, 1st Royal Irish Fusiliers, received an urgent telephone call from Brigadier-General Charles Wilding’s 10th Brigade headquarters to stop his reserve battalion’s attack:
‘But,’ I stammered, ‘what about the white lights?’
‘Those ruddy white lights mean “Held up by machine gun
fire,” and the damned things are going up everywhere.’
The whole rotten truth suddenly dawned on me.153
Unfortunately, technology, the confusion of the day and some broken telephone links meant circulation of the divisional order did not get through in time, or at all, to the next lot of battalions pressing forward.
This tranche of 4th Division pushed forward on a combined frontage of about 1500 yards under heavy artillery and machine-gun fire from about 9.30 a.m. These battalions included 2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers and 2nd Seaforth Highlanders, both of 10th Brigade, and used a blend of section columns and artillery formation.154 Also going forward were 1st King’s Own, 2nd Essex, 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers and 2nd Duke of Wellington’s, which were all in Brigadier-General James Crosbie’s 12th Brigade and all moving forward in artillery formation.155 Attempts to stop the attack of 2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers* were partially successful, but some platoons went forward.156 Without exception, these became casualties.157 The kilted 2nd Seaforth Highlanders† received no word to stop its advance.158 Some of its much-depleted ranks crossed over and joined in the Heidenkopf fighting.159 Elements of the casualty-thinned 2nd Essex‡ and 1st King’s Own also defied the odds and made it into the German lines.160 Behind them, word to halt the advance reached 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers§ and 2nd Duke of Wellington’s¶ a fraction too late to stop two companies of the former and three of the latter from entering the no-man’s-land welter.161 Those who survived the passage and reached Heidenkopf participated in the fighting there.162 The remaining companies of these battalions went over shortly before 11 a.m.163 The besieged wedge around Heidenkopf now comprised the thinned-out ranks of all of 4th Division’s brigades, but there would be no more reinforcements of men and munitions for hours.
‘Our machineguns did excellent work,’ wrote Leutnant-der-Reserve Riegel, Machine-gun Sharp-shooter Troop 198.164 He was on Redan Ridge shooting head-on at 2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers. ‘The entire line of skirmishers falls before us. Some try to come forward alone, but our infantry are on the parapet and mop up the individuals who come too close.’165 Lieutenant William Colyer, 2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers, later grieved for friends killed: ‘I can scarcely grasp the fact that I shall never see some of them again. It is such a short while ago that I left them in the height of good spirits, and now in the freshness of youth they have suddenly gone off to another world.’166
Around this time Brigadier-General Charles Prowse, commanding 11th Brigade, stepped into no-man’s-land. He was on his way forward to get a handle on events at Heidenkopf, and probably also to arrange an attack to silence the Ridge Redoubt machine-gunners. He did not get far. A bullet slammed into his stomach. He died a few hours later in a medical station and is today buried at Louvencourt Military Cemetery. Across VIII Corps’ battle front, nine battalion commanders were killed or died of wounds, and nine more were wounded.167 Casualties among junior officers and NCOs were alarmingly heavy, which meant organised command and control within the British lines quickly began to fragment, and even more so in the Heidenkopf toehold.
On the south side of Beaumont Hamel, Major-General de Lisle now committed Newfoundland Regiment* and 1st Essex,† both in Brigadier-General Douglas Cayley’s 88th Brigade. It was 8.37 a.m., and de Lisle wrongly believed the advance by its infantry was only temporarily held up and that parties of its infantry were fighting in the German trenches.168 Major Richard Spencer-Smith, second in command of reserve battalion 2nd Hampshires, considered the attack a ‘grave error of judgement, being preordained to failure and having no chance of success.’169 German machine-gunners were in no way subdued.
First Essex was initially delayed; communication trenches were clogged with casualties. The Newfoundlanders advanced overland in columns of sections at 9.15 a.m. As Private Walter Day, Newfoundland Regiment, later said, ‘We knew we were in for it. Everybody knew we were in for it.’170 Within 30 minutes, the battalion lost 233 men dead, 386 wounded and 91 missing.171 Attacking from trenches well behind the front line, mostly north of today’s memorial park, many Newfoundlanders were felled long before entering its present-day grounds. Others made it into noman’s-land and proceeded down the long incline towards Y Ravine. One said the ‘air seemed full of hissing pieces of lead all bent on the same grim errand. Our comrades began to fall all round us, and now a man stood alone where before a section had stood.’172 First Essex came up 40 minutes later, deployed in columns of sections and attacked.173 It, too, failed in a storm of artillery and machine-gun fire. ‘The fire was hellish and many men were not able to get back from No Man’s Land until twenty-four hours after the attack died down,’ wrote Captain George Paxton, 1st Essex.174
Divisional headquarters learned of these disasters at about 10 a.m., and five minutes later de Lisle, who now had a better handle on the fate of his division, wisely decided no more of the 29th should be sent forward.175 It was too late; most of the k
illing had already been done.
Hunter-Weston’s rose-tinted knowledge of events abated alongside worsening situation reports, but his outlook remained upbeat. At about 10.25 a.m, he ordered the 29th’s 4th Worcesters* and 2nd Hampshires,† along with the rest of the 4th’s 10th Brigade — 1st Royal Warwicks and 1st Royal Irish Fusiliers — to renew the attack at 12.30 p.m. and take Beaumont Hamel and the German intermediate line, or Munich Trench, behind it. This was far too optimistic, but revealed Hunter-Weston knew his corps had no hope of reaching its final objective, Serre–Grandcourt Spur.176 He contemplated using 48th (South Midland) Division, and brought it up to Mailly Maillet. A 12.30 p.m. rush forward by 1st Lancashire Fusiliers was gunned down. The 88th’s part in the planned operation was delayed, postponed and finally cancelled at 1.45 p.m. In the 10th’s sector, between about 1 p.m. and 2 p.m., attempts by a strong patrol from 1st Royal Warwicks‡ and then a company of 1st Royal Irish Fusiliers§ to cross the British front-line trenches into no-man’s-land faltered under intense machine-gun fire.177 At about 2.55 p.m., Major-General Sir William Lambton, 4th Division’s commander, told VIII Corps his division had suffered too many casualties to attack again.178 Casualties, confusion and communication and organisational difficulties saw the 10th’s part in the planned attack postponed and then abandoned mid-afternoon.179 Hunter-Weston now reflected on events: ‘The result of the day’s fighting up to the present 3pm has been disappointing. We have gained very little ground & our hold on what we have got is precarious. It is very probable that the result of the VIIIth Corps attack will be that we shall find ourselves back on our original line.’180 Regardless of this midafternoon epiphany, Hunter Bunter was not quite done yet. His profligate thoughts returned to Serre and 31st Division.
Just after midday, Brigadier-General Rees’ 94th Brigade was ordered by Major-General Robert Wanless-O’Gowan, commanding the 31st, to attack and confirm the British footing at Serre, which was behind enemy lines.181 Rees suggested postponing until more detailed information on the situation could be gathered, implying he had nil appetite for any operation of the type suggested.182 Wanless-O’Gowan was back in touch at about 5.20 p.m. asking Rees and Brigadier-General John Ingles, of the 93rd, if they were arranging an operation to establish communications with ‘our troops in Serre.’183 Wanless-O’Gowan — almost certainly at Hunter-Weston’s behest — offered up some fresh troops. Rees and Ingles rightly opposed any such endeavour, as their brigades were not ‘in a fit state,’ which was a polite way of saying they had been shot to pieces.184 Rees doubted whether any British troops were in Serre, barring the dead and prisoners. This seemed to be supported by the latest Royal Flying Corps observation report.185 Wanless-O’Gowan listened to his men on the spot. He told Hunter-Weston their concerns and proposed using his 92nd Brigade to hold the front line in case of a German counterattack, and suggested a prepared operation on 2 July with fresh troops might be a better course of action.
Hunter-Weston seized upon Wanless-O’Gowan’s suggestions even though he knew all was not going remotely well. At 6 p.m. he ordered the 92nd forward for a two-battalion attack at 2 a.m. on 2 July to clear up ‘the situation’ in Serre.186 Almost four hours later, Hunter-Weston realised the folly of this operation — one wonders exactly how much politely worded lobbying from his subordinates was required — and cancelled it.187 Hunter-Weston had finally conceded defeat, seven hours after stating that it was the most likely outcome of the battle for VIII Corps.
From Soden’s mid-morning perspective the fighting between Serre and Beaumont Hamel had gone mostly to plan. Reports arriving at his Biefvillers headquarters led him to identify 36th (Ulster) Division’s unexpected and troubling break-in around Schwaben Redoubt (fully discussed in Chapter 6, which deals with X Corps’ operations) as a priority. Soden realised that the loss of this ground posed a significant threat to the tenability of his divisional sector if left unchecked. Comparatively speaking, the tactical situations around Ovillers, further south and also in his divisional sector, and in the Beaumont Hamel–Serre area, to the north, were under control. Other reports would have told him that RIR119’s and RIR121’s co-ordinated defences were broadly functional and had mostly blunted the enemy’s attacks within one-and-a-half hours.188 The Hawthorn Ridge break-in was obviously minor and already fading. The wedge of land yielded around Heidenkopf had been contained and was being gradually squeezed out by organised counterattacks that began late morning. By about 9 a.m., Soden knew his on-the-spot commanders were controlling the battle between the River Ancre and Serre, and that he could focus his attention on remedying the tenuous and troubling situation at Schwaben Redoubt.189
‘EVERY BATTLE HAS shown that trenches which are either lost or in dispute may be comparatively easily cleared or recaptured, when this is undertaken immediately,’ said Generalleutnant Hermann von Stein, XIV Reserve Corps’ commander.190 ‘I expect leaders to show the greatest determination and initiative in such cases.’ So it was that the third and final act of the day, the German reclamation of ground lost to Hunter–Weston’s Corps, was set in train.
It began at about 10. a.m. on Hawthorn Ridge, where a small group of 2nd Royal Fusiliers, joined by some men of 16th Middlesex, had held the crater rim nearest the British lines for almost three hours, while German infantry occupied the other side. British and German machine-gunners and riflemen traded shots from opposite sides. A few of the up to 120 men of the 2nd Royal Fusiliers who made it there had even entered the trenches of RIR119, engaging the enemy with bayonet, grenade, rifle and pistol. It was always a one-outcome battle. For those fusiliers who chanced a look back at their own lines, the sight was of 86th Brigade’s main attack being clinically gunned down, which meant they would be neither reinforced nor supplied with ammunition.191 Moreover, they were outnumbered and casualties were increasing. As small, well-armed RIR119 counterattack groups worked in from each flank, this casualty-depleted, beleaguered group of British soldiers was gradually pushed back; they retreated to the crater before survivors ran a gauntlet of machine-gun fire as they dashed away overland. Few made it back. By 10.30 a.m., the crater on Hawthorn Ridge was lost for good, meaning 29th Division had failed to make a single lasting gain.
Private Noel Peters, 16th Middlesex, watched a blood-covered soldier of 29th Division race back towards safety amid the no-man’s-land fusillade. Occasionally he stumbled, fell, picked himself up and continued on. ‘And then he took a run and a dive and landed on the parapet. We grabbed his arms and hauled him over. . . . He kept patting his legs to see where he was hit. “I don’t know, I think they got my legs.” But do you know what? He didn’t have a scratch on him.’192
One-and-a-quarter miles away at Heidenkopf, 4th Division’s breakin quickly took on the characteristics of a smaller-scale trench raid. During the day soldiers from some nine battalions found their way to the German trenches here and beyond, but probably no more than about 1000. Effectively, the break-in had taken three successive trenches of the enemy front-line system on a 600-yard frontage. Men from different units were mixed up, officer and NCO casualties were heavy, and nobody really knew the layout of the heavily shellfire-damaged German trenches. In places consolidation had got underway quickly, in others not. One critic later said those in Heidenkopf had not grasped the ‘difference between a battle and a raid.’193 He meant that order had not been imposed upon chaos and that the captured trenches were never really made fit for defence against the organised counterattacks that were certain to follow.
The initial German fightback was implemented by on-the-spot NCOs and subalterns of RIR121. Patrols probed for weak spots in the British perimeter, and bombing parties began concentric counterattacks, both along trenches and overland.194 Soon the regiment’s commander, Oberstleutnant Adolf Josenhans, ordered more counterattacks without delay.195 His junior commanders led small, well-armed groups of infantry — usually 10–20 men, sometimes more — who worked from one corpse-littered trench bay or shell hole to the next. Supplies of grenades and bulle
ts were brought up behind them. Where required, company- and battalion-sized units were applied to the job. The Rifle Brigade’s historian said an ‘attempt was made to hold out in the German second line [of the front line system]; but the German supply of bombs was apparently inexhaustible, and after fifteen minutes, this was found to be impossible.’196 Josenhans committed his regiment’s 3rd Battalion piecemeal: ‘Step-by-step the tenacious enemy was pushed back. Again and again they barricaded themselves with sandbags with a machine gun or mortar, so it was hard to get at them with grenades.’197 By 11 a.m. the most advanced 4th Division parties had been driven from Munich Trench, and by 5 p.m. ‘all that could be retained was the trench [150–200 yards in length] across the base of the Quadrilateral [Heidenkopf]. Blocks were made.’198 By dusk, several hours later, the British had been forced back into the Heidenkopf trenches.199 The struggle continued into the night and, barring one company of 1st Royal Irish Fusiliers that went over that night and held out until about noon on 2 July, the bridgehead was eventually yielded around midnight as the last defenders stole away.
Sergeant Arthur Cook, 1st Somerset Light Infantry, recalled the chaos as officers and NCOs tried to organise the Heidenkopf defences.200 ‘Jerry was popping up all over the place, behind and on our flanks and throwing grenades at us from all angles.’ Somebody panicked and 400–500 men bolted, at first in dribs and drabs. Drummer Walter Ritchie, 2nd Seaforth Highlanders, stood in plain view atop the parapet and repeatedly bugled ‘Charge’, which stemmed the flood. Ritchie, a professional soldier, won the Victoria Cross for this, and for carrying messages over fire-swept ground. He lived. The situation remained touch and go. Cook’s group collected grenades from the dead but soon these were spent. ‘The Germans then gradually drove us back inch by inch, through their superior supply of bombs.’ The uninjured trampled over the dead and wounded. Bombs were scarce, as was water. ‘Jerry took advantage of the maze of communication trenches to follow up every yard we gave.’ Soon all that remained in Cook’s immediate area was a stretch of the old German front line, held by about 50 parched soldiers. ‘Shells were now falling thick and fast, the enemy had apparently retired and asked for artillery support to try to dislodge us.’ It worked. Shortly before midnight, Cook’s party withdrew, stumbling over corpses and into shell holes. ‘How I escaped I do not know.’
First day of the Somme Page 21
