Deborah and the War of the Tanks

by John Taylor

  Despite this, the scale and complexity of warfare made communications more crucial than ever, since multiple infantry units had to co-ordinate their activities with each other, and with the artillery and other arms. But the real signalling heroes were now to be found in dug-outs, huddled over their Morse code buzzers and emerging only to repair the cables when the bombardment was at its fiercest, or among the runners who carried vital messages back through the storm of steel.

  During this time, 9th Division headquarters was joined by a liaison officer from the French army called Sergeant Émile Herzog, who was both amused and intrigued by the British people he encountered, and captured their idiosyncrasies in a book which was translated as The Silence of Colonel Bramble. As a serving soldier he had to use a pen-name, and took this from a village near Cambrai; he is therefore known to the world as André Maurois. His role meant Maurois often encountered the signallers who were Frank Heap’s comrades, and his accounts suggest that as well as being ‘the salt of their race’, they were also the salt of the earth. Sheltering from the rain with a group of chauffeurs and motorcyclists, Maurois told how ‘he always liked to find himself among this class of Englishman with their strong language and simple minds. These, like the rest, were good fellows, careless, courageous and light-hearted. They hummed the latest music-hall airs from London, showed him photographs of their wives, sweethearts and babies, and asked him when the damned war would be over.’33 He also described an engineer who carried out repairs and told him how he dealt with communication problems: ‘Telephones are like women, sir. No one really knows anything about them. One fine day, something goes wrong; you try to find out why, no good, you swear, you shake them up a bit and all is well.’34

  The 9th Division spent four months learning the routine of trench warfare in quiet sectors, before the New Army was ready to be blooded at the Battle of Loos in September 1915. André Maurois was in the signalling room at divisional headquarters when the attack began and described how messages were taken down by the telephonists, plotted, and passed on. ‘An officer, standing before the huge map, carefully manoeuvred small coloured flags, and all this methodical agitation reminded [him] of a large banking house on the Stock Exchange.’ To Maurois, it was consistent with one of the officers’ favourite remarks: ‘A gentleman is never in a hurry.’35

  But beyond the château walls, the men of 9th Division had been hurled into a desperate, chaotic battle among mining spoilheaps and pit villages, in which everything seemed to go wrong that possibly could. The bombardment failed to cut the German barbed wire, the poison gas that the British were using for the first time blew back in their faces, and successive waves of men were sent to charge the enemy’s machine guns over the corpses of their comrades.

  As the fragile system of communication broke down, the commanding officer of 9th Division went forward in person, only to be killed by a shell. When André Maurois heard the news he ‘thought of the grey, smooth hair and fine features of the general, the gold and scarlet of his facings all soiled by the ignoble mud of battles. So much easy dignity, he thought, so much courteous authority, and to-morrow carrion, which the soldiers will trample under foot without knowing. But already, all round him, they were anxiously discussing who would be his successor.’36

  Major-General George Thesiger was one of more than 6,000 casualties suffered by 9th Division in its first shattering encounter with the Germans’ professional military machine.37 From Loos the division moved north to the Ypres Salient, where it remained until the end of the year – described as ‘a time of almost unmitigated gloom and discomfort’.38 Even their planned departure a few days before Christmas 1915 was disrupted by a massive bombardment, and the War Diary recorded that ‘although the motor cyclists continued to carry out their usual runs, one motor cycle was severely damaged at Shrapnel Corner, and a second at Kruisstraat. Their riders were unhurt.’39

  The division then held a quiet sector before being plunged into the great offensive on the Somme in mid-July 1916. A photograph of Frank taken during the battle (mysteriously inscribed ‘To Dearest Little Muff’) shows him looking self-assured in his steel helmet, casually dressed in battle-stained shorts and puttees, with a revolver on his belt and two corporal’s stripes on his sleeve.40 Frank’s local paper noted that he ‘had a stirring time as a motor cycle dispatch rider, and had many exciting adventures, seeing considerable hard fighting at the battles of Loos, Neuve Chapelle, Ypres, and on the Somme’.41 But despite his relaxed demeanour, Frank was now champing at the bit. The role of despatch-rider had largely settled down to that of a glorified postman, which was not what he had signed up for, especially since there was little chance of any glory. In addition he was clearly officer material, and the authorities had approved his application for a commission in an infantry regiment as early as March 1916.42

  Frank had to wait six months before being recalled to England, where his ambitions received an early setback when he was rejected by the Royal Flying Corps on familiar grounds: the medical form stated simply ‘Deficient vision – unfit’.43 Fortunately, just three days later the newspapers began to trumpet the achievements of ‘the mysterious “tanks”’,44 and suddenly a new and exciting opportunity presented itself that played to his sense of adventure, and to his knowledge of motors and machinery. On 30 January 1917 he was granted a commission in the Heavy Branch of the Machine Gun Corps, and began four months of intensive training in readiness for his return to the Western Front.45 At last, Frank must have felt his time had come, and now it was up to him to seize this opportunity with both hands, and to make his father proud after he had let him down in his truncated university career.

  Such was the story that Frank Heap recounted to his brother officers, with whatever additions and subtractions he judged appropriate for his audience. But by now the train had pulled up to the ramp in Oosthoek Wood, and it was time for Frank and his crew to begin the delicate task of unloading Deborah from her railway wagon and steering her into the tankodrome, to prepare for whatever fate, and the General Staff, had in store for them.

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘The Best Company of the Best Battalion’

  At some stage Frank Heap had to face the final, and most forbidding, stage of his initiation: namely meeting the commander of No. 12 Company, Major R.O.C. Ward.

  Each tank battalion was divided into three companies which formed the principal administrative and fighting units, and each of these had its own distinctive character, as Second Lieutenant Horace Birks explained: ‘There were 10, 11 and 12 Companies in D Battalion, and they were very close together but extraordinarily detached, to be thoroughly Irish. You had nothing to do with 10 Company except to pinch their tools when they weren’t there … And when you went into Poperinghe for a night out they’d give you a lift in their lorry, but it was their lorry not your own. But on the other hand you were all … very much D Battalion.’1

  The company commanders therefore bore the main responsibility for their men and tanks both in and out of battle, and in this respect Frank had landed on his feet, though it may not have felt that way. Robert Oscar Cyril Ward had been one of the pre-war stars of the Harlequins rugby team, and embodied the kind of muscular leadership that transferred easily from the sports field to the battlefield. He was known to sports fans by the acronym ‘ROC’, but when Frank Heap was ushered into the Major’s presence in his makeshift headquarters at La Lovie, the reason for his other nickname would have become clear. With his thick-set features, brawny physique and powerful personality, he was known as ‘The Bull’.2

  R.O.C. Ward seems to have born to the role of commanding men in battle, but he was actually another New Army man who had joined up a fortnight after Frank. Before that he had trained as a lawyer and worked as an accountant, and his pre-war military experience was limited to the school Cadet Corps.3 Since the outbreak of war, however, he had fought ferociously both as an infantry and tank officer, and had cheated death several times – most recently in a dreadful accident which le
ft his body permanently peppered with splinters from British hand grenades, and can have done nothing to improve his outlook on life.

  Ward seems to have inspired almost universal admiration, with one NCO describing him simply as a ‘marvellous man’. Interestingly though, he was not regarded with affection by all his junior officers. His volcanic style of leadership may have been ideal in combat, but he was also a hard taskmaster and seems to have lacked what we would now call ‘people skills’. Second Lieutenant James Macintosh recalled an incident at Wailly, the area of captured German trenches that was used for tank training, where an officer managed to submerge his tank in a large pond, leaving the crew to wade ashore from their stranded machine. The reaction of R.O.C.’s deputy, Captain Walter Smith, was typically derisive: ‘Damn it, man, you ought to be in the Inland Water Transport!’4 Ward’s response was very different, and illustrated his approach to command:

  The Major, however, saw little occasion for mirth in the situation. He was proud of being in command of the best Company of the best Battalion in the Corps, and he foresaw endless chaffing if the story once got about. Further, he considered this a splendid opportunity for exhibiting that cast-iron discipline for which he would fain be famous. Accordingly, he applied the standing order that crews of ditched tanks will in all cases remain with their tank until ordered to abandon it, thus dooming our friend to a cheerless night in some dug-out in the old Boche line. A special order was issued to all ranks forbidding mention of the occurrence, while, early next morning, two tanks sallied forth, and, pulling in tandem, dragged the unfortunate from its inglorious position.5

  Another junior officer in No. 12 Company, Second Lieutenant Ralph Cooney, was even more forthright when asked about his memories of the war:

  Cooney: Our company commander was a fellow called R.O.C. Ward who used to play for England [sic] in the Harlequins.

  Interviewer: What was he like to work with?

  Cooney: He wasn’t very popular. He was a great big chap and he was inclined to be a bit hard, I think. He was streets better than we were at all sorts of things [laughs].6

  * * *

  We can therefore be fairly sure what Frank Heap made of R.O.C. Ward as he fidgeted uneasily in front of him. As for Ward, he had seen many young officers come and go from the units under his command, and all too often their departure had been both catastrophic and terminal. He was probably not much impressed by Heap’s mild-mannered appearance, nor by his spectacles. On the other hand he would have appreciated his cheerfulness and keenness, though he had seen those often enough before, and had paid tribute to them in many a letter of condolence.

  No doubt Ward expressed polite interest at the fact they were both Cambridge ‘Blues’, having represented the university in their chosen sports – though in Ward’s case these were rugby and boxing, whereas Frank had played lacrosse, which did not have quite the same ring to it. Both of them had first seen action in the Battle of Loos, but Frank had been behind the lines on his motorbike, whereas Ward had been in the thick of the fighting. There was not much else to say for now, other than to wish Heap the best of luck, but at least the formalities were over and the Major could get back to more pressing matters, and Frank could get back to the mess.

  In fact the social gulf between them was not great, since they were both the sons of men who became rich through their own enterprise. Ward’s father acquired his wealth from an import and export business which took him to British Columbia in Canada, where his diary noted one day in 1881: ‘Bright & showery & windy. Boy born.’ This was R.O.C., and when the Wards returned home at the turn of the century they brought no fewer than seven children who had been born in Canada.7 The family settled in a smart area of London, and R.O.C. went to the prestigious Trinity College, Cambridge.8 However, like Frank his varsity career was chiefly distinguished for its sporting achievements and he became a ‘Double Blue’, winning the heavyweight title in both public schools and inter-university boxing;9 he was said to be the only man who ever lasted more than one round in the ring with John Hopley,10 one of the finest heavyweights in the British Empire.

  The year of his graduation in 1904 was also memorable for his parents’ move to Oak Lawn, a substantial estate in Surrey, where Robert Ward senior ‘lived the quiet life of a country gentleman’.11 But a quiet life was not what his sons had in mind, and both R.O.C.’s younger brothers had joined the armed forces, with Victor becoming one of the first officers in the Royal Navy’s newly-formed submarine service,12 and Horace seeing service as an infantry officer in the Boer War. R.O.C. chose a less dashing career in commerce and soon became secretary of a printing company,13 but there were thrills aplenty on the rugby pitch, and with his brother Horace – known as ‘Holly’ – he became a mainstay of the Harlequins team forged by the legendary Adrian Stoop, whose inspired leadership turned it into one of the country’s top clubs and established Twickenham as the home of English Rugby Union. R.O.C. was noted for strength rather than speed, and one writer observed that ‘perhaps few forwards of his weight used their weight more than he’.14

  R.O.C. also shared a special bond with his brother Victor, for in 1909 they married two sisters, the daughters of a wealthy landowner, at a joint ceremony in the south London suburb of Putney.15 The local paper was almost overcome with excitement: ‘The weddings were of a very picturesque description, as on one side it was a full naval wedding, the bridegroom, best man, and several others being in full naval uniform … Mr. R.O.C. Ward is well-known in Rugby football circles, having been for several seasons one of the most useful of the Harlequins’ forwards and a county player.’16

  With his new bride, R.O.C. settled in the respectable town of Watford where he became accountant to a firm of wholesale drapers. Despite their comfortable circumstances, married life did not begin easily and their first child died soon after he was born in 1912. The couple moved back to London where another son was born later that year, followed by a daughter in June 1914.17 By now the family had moved to a spacious villa in Putney, close to his wife’s childhood home, handy for the Harlequins’ ground at Twickenham, and an easy train ride from the capital.

  * * *

  When war came, R.O.C. Ward must have envied his brothers who had already staked their places in the great adventure. Despite his lack of military experience, there was no chance he was going to stay on the sidelines, and fortunately the expansion of the army threw up plenty of opportunities. R.O.C.’s brother Holly was in the East Kent Regiment, known as The Buffs, and this now underwent rapid growth with the creation of new ‘service’ battalions manned by those who had answered Kitchener’s call. In October 1914, R.O.C. travelled to Purfleet Camp in Essex to be commissioned as a lieutenant in the newly-formed 6th Battalion of the Buffs.18 A month later, Holly was captured in a series of battles that became known as the ‘race to the sea’, and spent the rest of the war as a prisoner in Germany.19 But R.O.C.’s army career was just beginning, and after training his battalion left England in June 1915, when, in the words of the regimental historian, ‘yet another warlike body of Buffs made the great move and sailed for France to show of what stuff the old regiment was made’.20

  Despite their keenness, it was some time before 6th Buffs got the chance to prove themselves. As with Frank Heap’s division, they first had to learn the skills of trench warfare, and were sent to a quiet sector where the enemy could sometimes be heard but were seldom seen. Both sides were busy sniping and tunnelling under each other’s positions to bury explosives, and R.O.C. did his best to liven things up by leading patrols, hurling grenades into the German trenches, and even setting off a mine when an attack seemed imminent.21

  Their first taste of real fighting came in the Battle of Loos, a crushing encounter which left the citizen soldiers of the New Army in no doubt as to the power and professionalism of their opponents. On 13 October, in the closing stages of the battle, it was the turn of 6th Buffs to go over the top in an attack at Hulluch – an ugly name, and an ugly memory for those who s
urvived. They were supposed to advance behind a smokescreen, but the War Diary described what happened: ‘At 1 p.m. a smoke cloud was created along the line … By about 2 p.m. all the smoke had cleared. At 2.15 p.m. the order was given to charge … The men were met with a terrific fire, machine guns on three sides while the Germans were lying on their parapets giving rapid fire. The three [companies] were practically wiped out.’22

  Around 190 men from 6th Battalion died that day, with as many more wounded or missing.23 Ten of the thirteen officers who took part were killed,24 among them Second Lieutenant Douglas Lambert, an England rugby star and R.O.C. Ward’s team-mate in the Harlequins. His dazzling speed counted for nothing in this cruel game, and he was shot down along with his men. His body was lost for ever in the mud of Hulluch, and he never knew the son who was born two months later.25

  Somehow R.O.C. emerged unscathed from this bloodbath, but he was a man of intelligence as well as action, and must have realized that sooner or later he would also end up throwing his life away for nothing. There had to be a better way of attacking heavily defended positions than simply hurling men and shells at them, and the same point had struck some members of the British General Staff. A wooden prototype had already been created of a mobile armoured fortress which could cross broken ground, crush barbed wire and support the infantry as they advanced. But it would be nearly a year before these machines were ready to go into action, and R.O.C. would have several more brushes with death before he was able to join his destiny with theirs.