by John Taylor
In the case of D Battalion, the tanks were to set out from St Julien in two separate contingents. The so-called ‘northern group’ would advance more or less northwards on the road towards Poelcappelle that G Battalion had used before, while the ‘southern group’ – including D51 – would head eastwards on another road towards a crossroads controlled by the enemy strongpoint known as Winnipeg. On reaching the intersection with the Langemarck-Zonnebeke road, each group would split up and turn along it to left or right to reach their objectives, while the infantry advanced cross-country to reach the same destinations. Having driven out the defenders, the tanks would leave the infantry in charge and return to St Julien using the same routes by which they came.
The plan was designed to replicate the success achieved by G Battalion. In his brigade orders, Colonel Baker-Carr stressed that ‘definite, distinct and complete units of infantry are being detailed against each strong point and will operate in conjunction with the tank which is attacking it’.8 This was reiterated by Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon in his orders to D Battalion: ‘It will be a tank attack, supported by parties of infantry who will assist the tanks in capturing, and mopping up the line, and the infantry will then consolidate and hold the line.’9
Most of D Battalion’s tanks would be working with infantry from 48th (South Midland) Division, whose orders were consistent with the Tank Corps tactics: ‘Rear platoons [i.e. of infantry] will be prepared to move forward as soon as the tanks are reaching their objectives and to consolidate the Winnipeg-Springfield line as soon as the tanks have dealt with the enemy’s positions.’10 However, two of the tanks would be working with infantry from 11th (Northern) Division, whose orders contained an important qualification: ‘Infantry will not wait for tanks should the latter be delayed by bad ground, but will push on as close to the barrage as possible.’11 This could be seen as a sign of bad faith, but even the most enthusiastic tank advocate would have to admit they had a point. Although the tanks were to move across the battlefield by road, this was far from straightforward, as Major Watson explained: ‘A civilian could search for a road in the forward area and not recognise it when he came to it. The roads had been shelled to destruction, like everything else in that ghastly, shattered country, but they possessed at least some sort of foundation which prevented the tanks from sinking into the mud.’12
The difficulties had been experienced at first hand by G Battalion, as described by Second Lieutenant Browne:
The Poelcapelle road … had been shelled now very heavily for over a month by one army or the other, or both at once; and its condition was this. The central strip of pavé [i.e. paving stones] had withstood the shell-fire moderately well, but was badly broken in places by jagged holes. It was covered by a thick greasy scum, and as it was cambered, careful driving was needed if one wished to avoid slipping off. And to avoid this was essential, for the macadamised portions on either side had, for all practical purposes, vanished. They were blown away and merged in the ditches, forming deep gulfs a yard or two wide, out of which the stouter pavé stood up like a causeway. Of the double line of trees, half were down, and a large proportion of these victims lay across the road at all angles. Beyond the trees the country was quite impassable for tanks, and on the east side of the road … was simply a swamp.13
The fallen tree trunks provided a major obstacle for the tanks, and to make matters even worse the German artillery had the positions of the roads precisely mapped, and the tanks using them were therefore exposed to constant pounding by shells.
The way to Poelcappelle came to epitomise the horror of war for many in D Battalion, among them Second Lieutenant Horace Birks: ‘The road itself was a pavé causeway slightly wider than a tank, broken in places with shell holes, winding dark and bleakly towards a hopeless horizon. It ran through a sea of mud reminiscent of a picture of the Abomination of Desolation, cratered inconceivably, littered with the debris of battle and stinking of death.’14 Under these circumstances, it was hardly surprising that some infantry units had a fall-back plan should the tanks fail to get through.
When the orders were issued, it became clear that George Macdonald in D51, and another tank, D52 Despot, had an especially challenging task. After heading east on the road out of St Julien, they would have to run the gauntlet from the strongpoint at Winnipeg, before turning right onto the Langemarck-Zonnebeke road to reach their main objective some way beyond – a formidable blockhouse called Schuler Farm, which was guarded by a system of smaller bunkers called Schuler Galleries. On turning right at Winnipeg, D51 would cross an invisible boundary into a zone that was being attacked by a completely different formation. When they started out, they would be working with infantry from the 5th Bn Royal Warwickshire Regiment, which formed part of 143rd Brigade, which formed part of 48th Division, which formed part of XVIII Corps (commanded by Lieutenant-General Sir Ivor Maxse). As they approached Schuler Farm, they would move into the sector being attacked by 2/4th Bn Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire Light Infantry, which formed part of 184th Brigade, which formed part of 61st Division, which formed part of XIX Corps. To add to the complexity, two tanks from F Battalion had also been detailed to attack Schuler Farm from the opposite direction.
It looks a tactical nightmare on paper, but it would be infinitely worse on a shell-ravaged battlefield. No-one seems to have told any of the infantry or artillery in XIX Corps, or the crews of F Battalion, that two tanks from D Battalion would be appearing from the left to join their attack on Schuler Farm. Perhaps they thought the knowledge would not make much difference, and they may have been right; but it contradicted the claims of close co-operation with specific units of infantry.
As it happened, one of the section commanders leading the F Battalion attack on Schuler Farm was Captain Arthur Arnold, who had commanded Dracula in the first day’s action on 15 September 1916. He had recovered after being shot when he left his tank to rescue a wounded soldier, and was now ready for another dust-up with the Boche.
* * *
The men of D Battalion were expecting a tough time when they went into battle, but what happened next nearly stopped their attack before it had even begun.
As we have seen, the twelve tanks were parked up at the bleak spot known as Bellevue, but it was impossible to conceal them in such featureless terrain. The Germans must have seen something that made them suspicious, and Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon described the outcome: ‘During the morning and early afternoon of the 21st August, the enemy artillery was particularly active. As a result 4 tanks at Belle Vue received direct hits and were put out of action.’15 Major Watson used more evocative language: ‘On the day before the action the enemy had spotted [Major Ward’s] tanks, which were “lying up” on the western slope of the Pilkem Ridge, and had attempted to destroy them with a hurricane bombardment of 5.9’s; but a tank has as many lives as a cat, and only three or four were knocked out, though the flanks of the remainder were scarred and dented with splinters.’16 Sad to relate, one of those hit was D51, believed to be the first Deborah, which was therefore put out of action before it had fired a shot in anger.
The destruction of the tanks was a serious blow, but as Captain Smith pointed out, it could have been far worse were it not for the ‘wise precaution’ of moving the crews back to Murat Farm: ‘Had the crews remained with the tanks the casualties would have undoubtedly been heavy. The guard N.C.O., Sergt. Brown, acted with great resource and promptitude, and quelled fires which broke out on several tanks by skilful use of pyrenes [i.e. fire extinguishers]. Unfortunately one of the guard was killed.’17
The loss of a third of their tanks was a serious threat to the operation but a solution was rapidly found, as explained by Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon: ‘These were replaced by 4 tanks of “G” Battalion from Murat Farm, and manned by the original crews of the shelled tanks.’18 Their ears ringing with the news of G Battalion’s triumph on 19 August, it must have been galling for D Battalion to have to appeal to them for help, but there was no alternative if the atta
ck was to go ahead.
After the weeks they had spent fine-tuning D51 in Oosthoek Wood, George Macdonald and his crew now had only a few hours to transfer their equipment and familiarize themselves with their new tank, G22 Grasshopper. At the same time the German gunners continued to torment them, as described by Captain Smith: ‘Sunset of [21 August] saw all the crews at Bellevue. The Germans, ever suspicious, gas-shelled heavily from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m., and we spent this period choking in gas-masks, every fresh shell increasing our hatred of the Hun, specially when a few 5.9’s were indiscriminately thrown in.’19 The only compensation was that instead of a female tank, the crew of D51 now had the ultimate killing machine: Grasshopper was a male tank whose 6-pounder guns would have far more effect on a concrete pillbox than the Lewis guns of the wrecked D51. As the frantic preparations went ahead, the new D Battalion numbers may have been painted onto the replacement tanks to help the infantry units identify them, so Grasshopper became in effect the new D51.20
* * *
While the tank crews were making their frantic preparations, the infantry units that would support them were also moving into their forward positions ready for the attack. Among them were 2/4th Bn Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry, who would work with the tanks of F Battalion to take Schuler Farm – also the ultimate objective for D51’s crew. Before getting there, however, they would have to capture a strongly-held blockhouse called Pond Farm, and then the series of smaller bunkers called Schuler Galleries. Private Arthur Judd, a member of the ‘Ox and Bucks’, described the scene as they took over the front line:
Trenches here were built up, one couldn’t dig down here as in the Somme country. Very flat country, this; in some directions we had an uninterrupted view for miles. Looking across this country, we once had the inspiring sight of a group of our tanks slowly crawling forward to the assembly positions for the attack in which they are shortly to assist us.
Midnight; the relief is complete. We stare into No Man’s Land and gaze at the weird array of coloured lights that rise and fall all round in one huge semi-circle … Jerry is very much alive in his pillboxes out in front, we have constantly to duck our heads as the streams of machine-gun bullets knock up the weeds or shave our parapets. We fear we have no easy task to take that ground where that pillbox stands a little way away to our left front, ‘Pond Farm,’ they call it. Now and then an appalling crash of shells around us gives rise to the fearful thought that Jerry knows what is coming off …
August 21st was a bright summer’s day. It passed off comparatively quiet. We studied the ground in front as far as we could see – ground we were to attack over on the morrow – we could see those ugly, formidable-looking pillboxes from where the Germans watched, and held on so tenaciously, could see derelict tanks and much rubbish – the result of the earlier stages of this battle – and amid the innumerable shell-holes the dead of other regiments.
Huge pools of water lay about – the result of the previous heavy rains, coupled with the effect of the heavy shelling on the drainage system of the country. ‘Looks as though we shall have to swim for it to-morrow!’ remarked one.
To-morrow would prove another crisis in our young lives – a day we should always remember, no doubt, if we survived. Oxford will have some lengthy casualty-lists to study after to-morrow; several more heroes of the war. We know it! …
Yet withal we experienced a certain thrill. These big attacks against Jerry we are called on to make from time to time, this going over the top to meet him always holds the ‘unexpected’; the unknown quantity. Despite all our plans, tactical talks, and rehearsals, we feel that right from the start the unexpected will happen.
We hope it may be as ‘cushy’ as it is intended to be … If only our tanks can get in amongst his pillboxes – a difficult task we fear over this ground, then we think our job will be easy enough …
Half an hour after zero we hope to be digging in 700 yards in front of where we are now. That will be a big step forward in the direction of the Passchendaele Ridge, which rises in the distance before us.21
* * *
While the British forces were moving laboriously into position, the Germans used this respite to improve their makeshift defences in preparation for the next anticipated attack. There was also time to investigate the abandoned hulk of G29 Gorgonzola, which lay ditched before the bunker now known as the Staigerhaus. Leutnant Staiger described events on 20 August:
As day slowly breaks, our grey enemy is still there, but it appears lifeless. Now the patrol squad under Vizefeldwebel Mösch gets busy. They have to take a look from inside as well, there will probably be something worth taking, and perhaps for our hunger too. The Tommies are better off than us in that respect. Off they stalk! They disappear inside and bring out four Lewis guns and other things; even our hunger is taken care of. And all that with hardly any bother from the previous occupants.
But the sequel is not far off. Already a few shells and pieces of shrapnel are whistling round the building. Still, if that’s all that happens then it’s not too bad. Already they have claimed a victim: Leutnant Sigel, commander of 2nd Battalion, who was already wounded, suffers a fatal shot on the way back. In any case we are unable to recover his body. It isn’t just the light stuff any more. More are coming over, 15 cm, apparently high-trajectory fire [i.e. from 6in howitzers]. ‘They’re obviously after us.’ Now the morning will soon be over; that could be a good thing. How much can the roof withstand? The first shot, possibly. Not a second hit – then our home would become our grave. There’s no chance of pulling back. Then comes explosion after explosion, always accompanied by the light stuff, so no-one can escape during the intervals. So we wait – for death! If only evening would come. The explosions are getting closer. A man is screaming: shell shock. As night falls, they again launch a concentrated onslaught against us. Then it gets quieter. We step outside to take a look around. Where there was solid ground this morning, now little lakes are glistening; on all sides the soil has been torn away from the concrete, which stands bare and exposed. One corner has received a hit, the machine guns in the position are buried under bricks. We’re all nearly exhausted after the day’s tension. The reliefs will be welcomed gratefully. Then back through the poison gas fumes to stand by in some hedgerow, where we still get no peace from the enemy’s shells. Such was Flanders in August 1917.22
CHAPTER 10
Into the Pillar of Fire
Finally, in the small hours of 22 August, the waiting was over. The tanks moved off from Bellevue during the night and began the slow approach to their starting positions. In the words of Captain Edward Glanville Smith: ‘At last we set off up an adjoining wooden road, silently praying that the Boche would not hear the combined noises of twelve … Daimler engines. Then down the Wieltje-St. Julien Road … and across the narrow bridge over the Steenbeek (a terrible place in daylight, littered with dead mules and shattered limbers).’1
Parties of Royal Engineers had begun work here the day before, repairing the shell-battered bridge in St Julien and building a new crossing nearby so that D Battalion’s tanks could negotiate the swamp where the stream had once flowed. The operation was fraught with hazard, but 184th Tunnelling Company reported: ‘The first tank crossed the road bridge at 4.am. and the 12th and last went over at 4.20.am. The bridge was satisfactory and where it gave way we filled with bricks. The area around was shelled throughout the night and the behaviour of the men was in every way excellent.’2 Once through St Julien, the tanks split into two groups as planned and crawled along the approach routes to their respective starting points ready for zero hour at 4.45 a.m., when a hurricane bombardment would mark the start of the attack.
In the hours before dawn, the British front was alive with furtive movement as infantry and tanks moved into position. Just to the right of D51, Private Arthur Judd and his comrades had moved out of the front line into No Man’s Land, where positions had been taped out for them. As he explained, ‘the old idea of crowding the trenches with
men before an attack is finished with – there is more room “outside,” besides, “Jerry” has these trenches registered to a nicety’.
Darkness has fallen, the stars gleam in the sky. Everything seems to be going well. With hushed movements we left our trenches some while ago and got into our positions on the tapes without mishap. In the weird glow of the Verey [sic] lights that illumined the scene we were fearful at first of being discovered, and every coloured rocket that went up elicited the whispered enquiry from someone: ‘What’s that for?’ or some gloomy individual would remark: ‘He’s rumbled us!’
But we are settled down now, we have had our rum issue and feel secure in the knowledge that ‘Jerry’ cannot know.
The night is quiet, occasionally I fall into a doze; finally must have fallen asleep.
I opened my eyes and seemed to think it looked a little lighter towards the east; had a vague notion of someone saying: ‘Another minute!’ But in the next instant the sky in the direction I was looking suddenly threw up a stab of flame.
A roll of thunder opened with a single deep boom; then steadied into a throbbing war. The shells screamed overhead so thick and fast they seemed verily to obscure the sky itself, rumbling like earthquakes behind, crashing like a thousand cymbals before us, a pillar of fire against the dark sky, a pillar of cloud against the dawn – leading us on.
It is zero hour and our barrage has fallen, blotting out the enemy bombardment with a drum-fire that makes his counter-barrage seem insignificant, there is no more fear or doubt, only an endless blast of sound, a flicker of flame in the sky, a roaring and howling of shells overhead, and a smoky pall of shrapnel. And as if clamouring to obtain a hearing in all this inferno, the machine-guns clatter with the sound as of a thousand explosive typewriters.
