by John Taylor
Tosh himself and the first driver were uninjured. Close by, in the trench, Tosh saw his N.C.O., who proved to be unhurt save for a generous lump of metal in the right cheek. He reported that the third driver, apparently demented, had fled wildly to the cemetery, fifty yards away. Of the eight, therefore, four were almost untouched.
The air was now fairly alive with bullets, but Tosh and his men, bent almost double, gained the partial shelter of the burning tank. Here they found a gunner, his face yellow with lyddite and distorted with shock. On examination, he had nothing worse than a broken leg and a slight arm-wound, but at present he was too dazed to help himself. They carried him to the comparative safety of the trench and returned to the tank. They then discovered a second gunner, evidently too far gone for help. He showed small signs of any wound, but even as Tosh bent over him he straightened slowly, spread his arms, and with a half-sigh he was dead.
‘Poor old Jimmie,’ said the first driver, ‘he never knew what hit him.’
Tosh turned his head away towards the tank, started, and clutched his driver’s arm. From the open door of what was now a smoking ruin crawled a terrible figure. One arm was smashed to pulp, one leg dragged; the body was soaked in blood. But the face – one whole cheek had been blown away, and through the gaping hole the tongue could be seen working feverishly over the shattered jaw. Worse still, the light in the eyes left no room for merciful doubt but that the wreck of a man was still sane. There was no shadow of pain – Tosh seized that crumb of comfort – only a strained perplexity at the unwieldiness of the crippled body.
Fighting with the deadly nausea which almost choked him, Tosh went to the man – his best gunner and firmest friend – and took him in his arms. After a moment’s inspection he reached for his revolver, and for twenty seconds tried to nerve himself to the merciful deed. But the decision was too hard for him. Ghastly as the man’s wounds were, he might not be beyond hope, and for the moment he could not – his eyes showed that he could not be suffering. With a sob Tosh laid him down and turned away.
The tank was burning fiercely, and the exploding ammunition made a continuous rattle. One man was still unaccounted for; but to enter her was impossible, and nothing could still be alive in that inferno. Beyond his revolver Tosh had no weapon. His first duty, therefore, was towards his wounded.
With many a stumble and many a rest in shell-holes, the three unwounded men carried off the gunner with the broken leg. The air was still full of the clack and whine of bullets, while the field gun which had knocked Tosh out was sending shells so low as apparently to skim the ground. Making for the cemetery they kept behind the shelter of its little quickset hedge, in which birds still twittered, and so, stumbling among the tombstones, came at last to the sunken cross-road behind it, where they deposited their burden.1
It was now obvious that the British barrage had failed to wipe out all the enemy’s field guns, and that the German gunners were determined to stand and fight. They claimed another victim in D28 Drake’s Drum III under Second Lieutenant John Henry de Burgh Shaw, described as ‘a stout tank commander’ by Major Watson, who told how he ‘engaged in a duel with a field gun’.2 Shaw had been in one of the first wire-crushing tanks and fought his way through to Flesquières:
There was a field battery near that village which had accounted for a number of tanks and one gun still remained in action. I advanced on this gun keeping machine guns continually firing on it, and got within 400 yards of it when I was hailed by a message from the infantry which called my attention to another gun quite close on my right and in a concealed position. As the field gun on which I had been advancing appeared to have been silenced I decided to try and knock out this other gun. I turned in the direction indicated by the message and crossing a slight rise perceived this gun, which was an anti-tank gun in a ground emplacement. The enemy were now on either side of us and this gun in front. I advanced straight towards this gun my idea being to ride over it and crush the emplacement.
I kept a continual fire on the aperture through which the gun protruded and when within 40 yards of it, it put a small shell through the front of the tank killing one of my crew. The shock caused the driver to stop the tank but we started again and when within 20 yards of the gun, still keeping a heavy machine-gun fire on it, it fired a second shell through the front of the cab very badly wounding one of the crew and slightly wounding another. The tank engine stopped immediately but did not catch fire. I got the remainder of the crew out as quickly as possible as the tank in that position and unable to move was a death trap.
I remained to assist the man who was so badly wounded and was in the act of dressing a wound preparatory to carrying him out when my tank was surrounded [by] enemy and rifles were pointed through the doors of the tank. I was surrounded within 3 or 4 minutes after the second shell was fired. One other of the crew was captured after evacuating the tank. I attribute my failure to demolish this gun emplacement to not having had a male tank.3
Shaw and his crewman were not the only members of D Battalion to end the day in German hands. D11 Dominie actually reached the second line of trenches and was only 200 yards from an enemy battery when it was hit, killing two men and wounding most of the others. The reconnaissance officer of No. 10 Company, Second Lieutenant George Koe, was on board with his company commander, having taken the place of two wounded gunners:
After some time, when I was potting at a Hun machine gun that was holding out, I got hit by a splinter in the wrist and side, but it was only a surface wound and nothing to worry about. I had just got this tied up and had started firing again when – crash! and I saw sparks and flames all around. I guessed at once the ’bus was on fire, and I started to get the door open. I guess that was the worst half-minute I ever had in my life. I was last out of my ’bus and lay quiet on the grass.
My C.O. [i.e. Major Marris] was wounded, so were most of the rest; the only unwounded people were a brother officer and myself, and we neither of us had our revolvers or ammunition. In addition, we were nearly half a mile in front of the infantry, and the enemy were mighty close to us. I tried to move the C.O., but I couldn’t, and then C. [the tank commander, Lieutenant Thomas Cook] and I started to get back for assistance. It was a nasty trip, as I was sniped all the way – in fact, I had to do a lot of it on my tummy – crawling, in fact. However, I got back to a trench and found our fellows in it, and after making arrangements with the infantry to get the others in, we set off and went back to our wood again.4
Evidence suggests D11 Dominie was nothing like as far ahead of the infantry as Koe claimed, though it must have felt like it. However, it still proved impossible to bring back the wounded commander of No. 10 Company, Major Edgar Marris, who gave his own version of events:
At about 11 am I was in one of my tanks and was approaching the village of Flesquieres … Just outside of the village the tank was hit by a light field gun at about 70 yards range. The tank immediately burst into flames. I was in the front seat. I fell over backwards and tried to reach the door. I got part of the way but remember no more, until I woke up to find 5 or 6 Germans dragging me to my feet, I was then lying just outside the tank. I was wounded in the face and badly burnt.5
That night, Hauptmann Otto Fürsen, the commander of 3rd Battalion, 84th Infantry Regiment, who had also been injured in the battle, went to a dressing station in Cambrai for a tetanus injection. He noted that ‘a major from an English tank squadron, who had been wounded and captured, was also lying there’. It was Major Marris, who eventually recovered from his injuries and spent the rest of the war in captivity.6
Meanwhile, crews of the tanks that had been hit tried to warn their comrades of the danger. Private Thomas Fortune won a Military Medal for his efforts following the destruction of his tank, probably D6 Devil-May-Care, as described in the citation: ‘A volunteer was called for to proceed to other tanks and to the infantry, who by this time were well in the rear, and warn them of the position of an active enemy battery. Although wounded, Pte For
tune immediately came forward, and in spite of very heavy machine-gun and snipers’ fire gallantly carried out his instructions.’7
But it was to no avail, and the advance of D Battalion on the west side of Flesquières ground to a halt in the teeth of the ferocious artillery fire. Captain Edward Glanville Smith described the impasse:
As 12 Company topped the ridge the first thing to be seen was a number of derelict tanks (survivors of 10 and 11 Companies) apparently knocked out by direct hits and most of them burning; and it was only a matter of a few seconds to discover the German battery on the western outskirts of Flesquieres which was doing the damage. The two tank sections on this flank of the village endeavoured to push round it, but within five minutes four out of the five had been knocked out, Lieut. [sic] R. A. Jones unfortunately being killed; and the fifth car had no option but to withdraw behind the crest, after the accompanying infantry had been seen safely into their objective, which was found to be unoccupied.8
In all, eight tanks were destroyed on the western outskirts of the village. Second Lieutenant Richard Alun Jones died in D41 Devil II, alongside his driver, Lance-Corporal Henry Monks. In a letter to the driver’s family, Captain Smith described what happened in anodyne terms: ‘It was while waiting for our infantry to come forward to take the trench that his tank was hit and he and the officer in charge were killed by a shell, splinters of the shell striking them on the head.’9
But Second Lieutenant James Macintosh, who helped to bury their bodies the next day, gave a more frank account: ‘Arrived at the tank the men were faced with a particularly horrible work. A shell had landed on the cab, killing instantaneously both officer and first driver, and a fire subsequently starting, the bodies had been roasted where they lay. The officer had been a particular friend of Tosh’s – still a boy at heart, with a boy’s gaiety and untainted outlook on life. The death of a friend he had grown used to, but this was no ordinary death. Sick at heart, he thanked God that he directed [the burial] but need bear no actual hand.’10
Another of the tanks to be destroyed was D47 Demon II, which had done ‘magnificent execution’ a few hours before in the Stollenweg, though in this case the commander, Second Lieutenant James Vose, escaped unhurt, along with his section commander, Captain Harold Head, who had been on board.11 However, one of the gunners, Private Walter Robinson, was killed, and in a letter to his father, Second Lieutenant Vose told how they ‘had got right up to the final objective after driving the Boche out, when a shell from a concealed battery hit us. Your son was killed instantly & therefore suffered no pain whatever. 4 others were wounded by the same shell.’ Referring to the earlier fighting, he added: ‘It may give you some satisfaction to know that we must have got a few dozen Boche in revenge for your son’s life.’12
Alongside the tragedy, there were many displays of bravery following the wholesale destruction of the tanks. After D32 Dop Doctor II was hit, Lance-Corporal John Tolson distinguished himself by organizing parties to bring in the wounded from several tanks that had been hit. His citation for the Military Medal said: ‘On three separate occasions he went back under extremely heavy and practically point-blank machine-gun fire to dress and carry in the wounded. With utter disregard for personal safety, and entirely on his own initiative, he undoubtedly saved several lives.’13
One of the section commanders called Captain Christopher Field – inevitably known as ‘Happy Fanny’14 in reference to the comedian ‘Happy’ Fanny Fields – went forward to Flesquières on foot after the tank he was travelling in ran out of petrol. His citation for the Military Cross told how ‘under very heavy machine-gun fire [he] rallied his crews of the tanks that had been hit, and supervised the collection of the wounded. His cheerfulness and contempt of danger had a most encouraging effect on all ranks.’15
One of his men, Sergeant George Taylor, did what he could to help the infantry after his tank had become ditched, mounting a Lewis gun on a trench parapet and silencing the enemy who were holding up the advance. His medal citation added: ‘Later, though heavily sniped, he ran out to another tank and directed it so that the infantry could advance behind it without being exposed to fire. Again he gave valuable assistance in carrying back wounded under fire.’16
* * *
As soon as the fighting subsided, Second Lieutenant James Macintosh returned to collect his injured crewmen from D45 Destroyer II. The walking wounded were sent back to the dressing station, and he went in search of the seriously injured man who he had considered shooting to end his suffering:
Stretcher-bearers were few and far between, but he succeeded in finding two. These he conducted through the cemetery, which still hummed with bullets, and between them they brought the pitiful wreck of a man to the cross-road. Tosh noted with a sigh of relief that he was now delirious.
The next requisite was a stretcher. Prospecting along the road, Tosh found a Boche officer with a shattered leg lying on one waiting to be carried down. This was no time for niceties of behaviour. Lifting off the protesting man, they seized the stretcher, and in a minute Tosh was supporting his driver while the stretcher-bearers raised the load on to their shoulders.
The way to the dressing-station lay along a road, but it was long and very tiring for the bearers. To Tosh it was endless, for the delirious man kept making determined efforts to get off the stretcher, groaning and crying the while with pain and mumbling and mowing with his shattered jaws. At last they reached the dressing-station, where the doctor pronounced the case very serious, but not altogether hopeless.17
The havoc had been wrought by a small number of field guns, probably from 282nd Field Artillery Regiment which had a battery sited immediately to the west of the village. A brief account appears in the German official history: ‘Until early afternoon the battery defended itself successfully against the tanks, and so provided valuable flanking protection for the soldiers of Krebs’ regiment [i.e. 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment]. Feldwebelleutnant Reinsch reports that the guns knocked out five tanks in a very short space of time … Teams of pioneers … helped the artillerymen to defend their fire-position. They skilfully removed the still serviceable machine guns from one destroyed tank and used them until the ammunition was used up.’18
Despite the courage and sacrifice of the tank crews, it was obvious that the attack to the west of Flesquières had failed, and although they had helped the Highlanders to take the first line of trenches (or Hindenburg Support), they were now unable to provide any further assistance. It was a grim prospect for the men of 7th Bn Black Watch, who summed up their dilemma: ‘Following the tanks Hindenburg Support was taken about 10:35 a.m. All the tanks that reached Hindenburg Support were immediately knocked out by the anti-tank battery at [the crossroads on the west side of the village]. The wire between Hindenburg Support and Flesquieres Trench was uncut; there were no tanks on our front; the village of Flesquieres was still in enemy hands; there was no artillery barrage; consequently further advance at this time was impossible.’19
CHAPTER 29
Into the Hurricane
Although the attack to the west of Flesquières had failed, an equally substantial force – mostly made up of E Battalion’s tanks with some elements of D Battalion, including D51 Deborah – was simultaneously approaching the village from its eastern side, supporting two further infantry units, the 6th Bn Seaforth Highlanders and 6th Bn Gordon Highlanders.
E Battalion had also suffered considerable attrition in the first phase of the operation, beginning with the stroke of fate that swept away E27 Ella and her crew. After this at least five more machines were lost crossing the Hindenburg Line, one receiving a direct hit and the rest suffering from mechanical trouble – including the unfortunate E24 Ernest, whose radiator escape pipe was torn off by the clutching barbed wire, leading to the loss of all its cooling water.1
Nevertheless, as they began the long climb out of the Grand Ravine, Second Lieutenant Wilfred Bion in E40 Edward II felt very much in control:
The ease and orderlines
s of the operation after the chaos of Ypres induced a sense of unreality. The battlefield was set out like a diagram; the functions of infantry, gunners and tanks slotted together with such perfection that it seemed as if we were more pieces of a Staff Officer’s dream than soldiers at war. Small pockets of German prisoners were being marched back, filled more with curiosity than fear as the spectacle unrolled before them … They seemed awfully decent about it and indeed quite keen to watch what we were doing.
I raced my tank – in those days four miles an hour – towards my objective, the village of Flesquieres. The firm ground made it easy and exhilarating. The ground sloped upwards to an enemy strong point. As we came nearer I could see how formidable was the barbed wire – at least six feet high and ten yards thick surrounding the fortification proper. As a routine I closed my flaps and plunged into the wire; for a moment I felt a slight tug as it gripped us. Then we broke through …2
One of the men advancing behind him, Captain Alastair Macdonald of 6th Bn Seaforth Highlanders, described the scene in almost lyrical terms: ‘The tanks glided along, bowing their way over the uneven ground, and the ardent waves of men followed over the dry dead grass … Hindenburg support trench was the objective, and the guns were still pommelling it, as the advance approached.’3
As on the west side of the village, the tanks supporting the 6th Seaforths successfully crushed paths through the wire and the attackers were soon flooding into the first-line trenches. The left-hand company gratefully recorded the names of the tanks that made this possible with only three infantry casualties: Edinburgh, Egypt, Eileen, Emperor, Endurance, Euryalus and Exquisite. The right-hand company complained that the tanks had not come up, but they still found a way through the wire and reached the Hindenburg Support trench with only slightly heavier losses.4
