by Peter Hart
On the same day, 14 September, General Helmuth von Moltke was dismissed and replaced as Chief of General Staff by General Erich von Falkenhayn. Moltke had proved incapable of successfully prosecuting the war he had so much desired: the Schlieffen Plan as defined by Moltke had failed. Within two years he was dead – a broken man. Falkenhayn was born in 1861 and had experienced active service during the Boxer Rebellion in China in 1900. His evident abilities allowed him rapid promotion and in 1913 he had been made Prussian Minister of War. He was also noted for his cold-blooded detachment, which allowed him to assess a military situation on its merits, with the minimum of emotion.
The next phase of the fighting has often been described as the ‘Race for the Sea’, which accurately describes what it was not. In fact, it consisted of a series of outflanking manoeuvres, in which both sides sought, not to reach the sea, but to get round the northern flank of their opponent. Both sides still had hopes of victory, moving spare units out of the line in areas where the situation had settled and rushing them north. During the first stages, the BEF remained dug in on the Aisne sector, while the French and German forces engaged in a bloody series of encounter battles as they leapfrogged to the north. There was still a lot at stake. Although the war would clearly not be over in the near future, there were still the Channel ports of Boulogne, Dunkirk, Calais, Zeebrugge and Ostend, the industrial heartlands and coalfields of northern France, the vital rail junctions at Hazebrouck and Roulers, and the fate of the bulk of the Belgian Army still trapped in Antwerp – all these glittering prizes – to consider in addition to the chance of outflanking and thereby ‘rolling up’ the opponent’s trench lines.
Like tiring heavyweights, the German and French forces exchanged blows, each finding it within them to thwart their opponent, but unable to go on to achieve a worthwhile victory. The logistical problems were phenomenal. Whole armies were consigned to overstretched railways and then pushed on from the railheads down crowded roads. Time was of the essence and both sides took incredible risks thrusting units into action well before they were ready. But when it mattered soldiers dug in and held out, gaining the time for reinforcements to be brought up. So the line solidified and attention turned to the next bound north. Clashes occurred across the Somme area in late September, then up around Arras in early October. Then came Lens, Armentières and finally Ypres. All these place names, then relatively unfamiliar, would become a litany of pain in the battles that followed over the next four years.
Meanwhile, Sir John French was becoming frustrated by his static positions on the Aisne Front. The old cavalryman sent a heartfelt plea to Joffre to allow him to move to take up station on the left flank of the French, which would greatly facilitate supply arrangements via the Channel ports. Thus the BEF would become involved in the final operations in northern France and around Ypres where it would try to exploit – or defend – the last possible gap before the North Sea stopped any opportunity for outflanking manoeuvres.
The BEF, alongside the French Second and Tenth Armies, would become part of the hastily assembled Northern Army Group, all under the control of the feisty figure of General Ferdinand Foch. Foch was a force of nature, endowed with incredible vigour, a considerable intellect and the ability to inspire those around him to greater things. Certainly Sir John French was swept away by Gallic passion.
In appearance he is slight and small of stature, albeit with a most wiry and active frame. It is in his eyes and the expression of his face that one sees his extraordinary power. He appreciates a military situation like lightning, with marvellous accuracy, and evinces wonderful skill and versatility in dealing with it. Animated by a consuming energy his constant exclamation, ‘Attaque! Attaque! Attaque!’ reflected his state of mind, and there can be no doubt that he imbued his troops with much of his spirit.39
General Sir John French, Headquarters, BEF
Born in 1851, Foch was a famed academic tactician who had served as Commandant at the École Supérieure de Guerre and was closely linked with the French pre-war cult of the offensive. His performance in the first weeks of the war had not inspired confidence but, like Joffre, he had the ability to adapt his views to meet the realities he faced rather than the theories he had once taught. He gained new priorities forged in adversity: ‘Infantry was to be economised, artillery freely used and every foot of ground taken was to be organised for defence.’40 Of course, morale was important, but most of all a successful attack needed numerical supremacy, backed up by overwhelming firepower. Even then, success was useless without consolidation to resist the inevitable German counter-attacks. Having gained his command of the Northern Army Group, Foch was determined to break through the gap he was convinced must exist between the German units that had captured Lille and those that were occupying Belgian Antwerp, which they had recently over-run.
The BEF had begun slowly to expand, with the creation of a III Corps (4th and 6th Divisions) under Major General Sir William Pulteney and the makeshift IV Corps (7th Division and 3rd Cavalry Division) under Lieutenant General Sir Henry Rawlinson. As the BEF moved into the line north of La Bassée Canal, near Béthune, it soon became involved in severe fighting. In the end, the main attention would fall on Ypres, a small market town in Belgium. Ypres had no particular value in itself, but it was the gateway to success for both sides. For the Germans it offered a way through to the Channel ports, and for the British the route to Menin, Roulers and the chance to cut German rail communications. German cavalry had briefly passed through the town on 7 October, but then it remained unoccupied until the IV Corps under Rawlinson arrived on 14 October, followed by Haig’s I Corps on 19 October. At this point Sir John French, in accordance with Foch’s orders, still had it in mind to push towards Roulers, but it was Falkenhayn who suddenly regained the initiative by moving up the Fourth Army under Albrecht, Duke of Württemberg. This was a massive, newly constituted formation containing the XXII, XXIII, XXVI and XXVII Reserve Corps, manned mainly by half-trained wartime volunteers and conscripts. The only experienced troops were the III Reserve Corps, which had been responsible for the capture of Antwerp.
Under Falkenhayn’s plan, the new Fourth Army, assisted by the more northerly elements of the Sixth Army, were to smash through the thin trench lines scratched into the ground by British, French and Belgian units between Armentières and the sea. ‘The Fourth Army is to advance, without regard for casualties, with its right wing resting on the coast, first on the fortresses of Dunkirk and Calais, then to swing south at St Omer.’41 This was a risky endeavour as most of these German troops were nowhere near the quality of the original assaulting divisions of August 1914. The recruits were willing enough, motivated by raw enthusiasm, but they had not had the benefit of a methodical training in drill, musketry or field tactics. They were more like a militia, often poorly equipped and lacking in all but the simplest soldierly skills. They were used in action so early only because Falkenhayn and his staff could think of no alternative and they regarded this as probably their last real chance to finish the war that year.
From 17 October, the III Reserve Corps stationed on the right of the German Fourth Army tore into the Belgians and French, forcing them back towards the River Yser. The fighting was hard and at times they were harassed by heavy bombardments from naval units headed by the pre-dreadnought Venerable as they advanced towards the Belgian occupied town of Nieuwpoort. But, to their chagrin, the Germans were stymied when the Belgians opened the floodgates to systematically inundate the low-lying polders that protected the town, in effect forcing the Germans to retreat leaving a huge lake behind them. There was no way through here. It appeared that any decision would have to take place further inland on the low ridges rising from Ypres towards the village of Passchendaele.
The main German assault began on 20 October, with the initial pressure falling mainly on Smith-Dorrien’s II Corps well to the south of Ypres who were caught somewhat unawares by the fury of the assault. The fighting was at times exceptionally severe and by 31 Octo
ber, despite drafts, they had been reduced by the accumulated campaigns to a skeleton force of just 14,000 men. It was fortunate for the British that the Indian Corps had arrived just in time to replace them in the line, although they soon betrayed their inexperience and suffered many unnecessary casualties. For the British, the focus of attention then shifted on to the front held by the I and IV Corps digging in on the ridges in front of Ypres itself.
As the power of the assaults built up, there is no question that, for the most part, the British soldiers were making a better fist of the battle. As they gained the experience their pre-war training had not given them, their tactical dispositions slowly gained in subtlety, although there were still mistakes and instances of panic. Co-operation increased between neighbouring units, while the necessity of maintaining (if possible) a reserve at hand for plugging gaps or organised counter-attacks seemed to have been grasped. The artillery, too, was generally better handled, not left so exposed to the power of the German guns. There was also little doubt that the German troops lacked the skills of their predecessors. The concepts of ‘fire and movement’ – going to ground, co-ordinating rifle, machine guns and artillery to win the fire fight, before the final attack and careful consolidation of gains – were often conspicuous by their absence.
We had imagined that our baptism of fire would be somewhat different. There can be nothing more depressing than the very public failure of an attack launched as though on exercise against an invisible enemy. Unthinking, section after section ran into the well directed fire of experienced troops. Every effort had been put into our training, but it was completely inadequate preparation for such a serious assault on battle-hardened, long-service colonial soldiers. We had just reached a meadow on a hillside, which was surrounded by trees and hedges, when the first British caps came into view. Forgotten for a moment was that little we had learned about modern battle drills, cover and exploitation of ground. In two ranks and, in some places, three, kneeling or standing, we poured down fire with an abandon which can only be understood by the excitement of the first great moment of this day of assaults. After hours of demoralising hopelessness, here was a task which was visible and achievable. After two rounds fired standing unsupported, as if on the range, the inevitable happened. Just as I was taking the first pressure on the trigger, I was hit in the left buttock and I immediately felt the effects of the last strenuous days of marching – days for which we had not in the slightest been prepared – and the loss of blood from the wound weakened me far more than should have been the case. Everywhere there was confusion. Men were flooding back from the front, it was impossible to miss what was happening. Withdrawal? Enemy counter-attack? Would we be able to advance once more? Would we wounded not have to be cared for? Yet again we were back to the total hopelessness and paucity of thought which had marked our attacks from the very beginning. The gruesome reality was that I was no longer buoyed up by the elation of being close up to the enemy, but was inwardly extremely agitated by my first experience of being wounded, and externally by the total confusion of the events which surrounded me and which seemed to make no sense. How, in the circumstances, could an inexperienced wartime volunteer make clear decisions?42
Private Willi Kahl, 2nd Battalion, 236th Reserve Infantry Regiment
Their rawness led to scenarios that matched everything the British had claimed at Mons and Le Cateau, but there is no doubt that this time they really were slaughtering the German troops stumbling towards them. A typical British account is provided by Captain Harry Dillon of the 2nd Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry, in a letter written on 22 October.
A great grey mass of humanity was charging, running for all God would let them, straight on to us not 50 yards off. Everybody’s nerves were pretty well on edge as I had warned them what to expect, and as I fired my rifle the rest all went off almost simultaneously. One saw the great mass of Germans quiver. In reality some fell, some fell over them, and others came on. I have never shot so much in such a short time, could not have been more than a few seconds and they were down. Then the whole lot came on again and it was the most critical moment of my life. Twenty yards more and they would have been over us in thousands, but our fire must have been fearful, and at the very last moment they did the most foolish thing they possibly could have done. Some of the leading people turned to the left for some reason, and they all followed like a great flock of sheep. I don’t think one could have missed at the distance and just for one short minute or two we poured the ammunition into them in boxfuls. My rifles were red hot at the finish. The firing died down and out of the darkness a great moan came. People with their arms and legs off trying to crawl away; others who could not move gasping out their last moments with the cold night wind biting into their broken bodies and the lurid red glare of a farm house showing up clumps of grey devils killed by the men on my left further down. A weird awful scene; some of them would raise themselves on one arm or crawl a little distance, silhouetted as black as ink against the red glow of the fire.43
Captain Harry Dillon, 2nd Oxford and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry
Both sides were reliant on artillery to soften up the enemy before an assault. Private William Quinton of the 2nd Bedfordshires was stationed in trenches in front of Gheluvelt on 24 October. It was not long before they came under heavy fire and it was evident the Germans were about to attack. Many men were experiencing concentrated shellfire for the first time. It may have been a light shower compared to the artillery storms to come, but for them it was torment.
Shrapnel shells were now bursting over our trench, the bullets shooting downwards and burying themselves in the back wall of it as we crouched under the parapet. The report as they burst, about 12 feet above our heads, was deafening, and made our ears sing, so that conversation was practically impossible. The machine gun fire was now more intense, and I could also distinguish rifle fire from the lines. We knew that this outburst was the preliminary to an attack, but we also knew that they would not come over whilst they were still shelling our front line, as they would be running into their own fire. As soon as they lifted their fire and concentrated it on our support and reserve lines, that would be the moment of attack. Grey dawn was taking the place of darkness. I was trembling. I looked at Bosely. His knuckles showed white through the flesh, he was gripping his rifle so hard. His face was white and set, and he looked at me as if he didn’t recognise me.44
Private William Quinton, 2nd Bedfordshire Regiment
Suddenly the bombardment stopped and Quinton realised that the moment had come.
The Company officer came dashing round to our gun position. ‘Get ready boys!’ he shouted, flourishing his service revolver, ‘Give them a warm reception!’ Rifle fire broke out along our line, we jumped to the parapet, head and shoulders above it. The sight that meet my gaze was one that I shall never forget. A horde of Germans were on their way towards our trenches, rifles with bayonets fixed held before them. Hundreds more were clambering out of their trenches and forming a second line, as they broke into a sharp trot towards us. They were so close together that their shoulders touched as they ran. As fire broke from our lines, they shouted hoarse cries and broke into a charge. I observed all this in one brief moment. I took aim with my rifle and fired: I blazed away into that oncoming mass of humanity that was out to annihilate us. At the same time our machine gun began to bark. The Germans immediately in front of us, the foremost being less than 100 yards away, began to fall like ninepins. I was firing my rifle as hard as 1 could, only pausing to reload the magazine with ten fresh rounds. A few of the enemy had got in advance of the rest, and were only about 50 yards away, when our gun stopped.45
Private William Quinton, 2nd Bedfordshire Regiment
Quinton, who was part of the machine gun section, took over on their Maxim.
What if our gun failed now? Even a temporary failure and they would be all over us. In fact, it flashed through my brain that, with the number of Germans coming over, it was just a matt
er of time before they swarmed into our trench to bayonet what was left of us. Suddenly Bosely winced, let go the gun, and grabbed his right shoulder. He slid down into the shelter of the trench, and I hastily took over. Grasping the firing handles and pressing my thumbs on the trigger lever, I fired without taking aim into the grey mass in front of us. Steam was now coming from the escape plug near the muzzle, as the water in the barrel casing began to reach boiling point. Belt after belt of cartridges went through her, till I began to think our ammunition supply must be getting low. Still those grey-clad figures came on. Hundreds of them, dead and wounded, lay out in No Man’s Land. A fresh line leapt from their trenches and made a wild rush towards us, but were met with a withering fire. They got about halfway across, their officers urging them on, then wavered and stopped, and finished up by throwing themselves flat and sheltering behind their own dead. They found effective shelter behind this gruesome barricade, for the dead were piled two and three high. I played the gun on them, just skimming the barricade, but they did not attempt to come forward again. They lay there, not risking to expose themselves and not daring to return to their own trenches. We had a little breathing space now, the attack having died away to nothing. Whereas before the attack I had been shivering, I was now wet with perspiration. Our trench presented a terrible sight. Of the twelve machine gunners, only five of us were left.46
