By the end of July 1918, a series of conferences between Generals Foch, Haig and Rawlinson completed the overall planning for the Allied offensive. Rawlinson then held eight conferences with the Canadian General Arthur Currie; the British III Corps Commander, General Sir Richard Butler; Lieutenant General Charles Kavanagh of the Cavalry Corps; and Australian Corps’ General John Monash.
On 21 July, when the date of the offensive was still only provisional, Monash met with Rawlinson, but he departed on the 23rd for London and returned to Bertangles on the 30th. The next day, Haig arrived. Monash was able to report to him, ‘I have all the threads of the operations in my hands.’1 Monash called a conference of his divisional commanders, where he asked for their individual plans. Any queries or questions raised at this meeting were addressed in a memorandum sent out the following day. The wheels were in motion for the great counterattack.
Haig had a range of ideas. First, he wanted an ‘unlimited offensive’, while Monash stressed that there ‘is no intention of carrying the exploitation of the success eastwards of the Blue Line (the third objective)’.2 Second, Haig favoured Canadian units over Australian ones as he felt the Australians came with a number of problems. Apart from the perceived ill-discipline of the troops – and the fact that the death penalty was not an option with them – the Australian battalions were understrength. Their brigades had been reduced from four battalions to three, in line with the new British formations, and the idea of bringing light horsemen from Palestine had been rejected. The Canadians had four divisions at full strength, with reinforcements on hand to make up any losses. Haig was also aware that the deployment of Australian troops into offensives where there was a chance of high casualties needed Prime Minister Billy Hughes’ approval. Nonetheless, Haig accepted that the best option was for the Canadians and the Australians to form the vanguard, using all their divisions in the offensive. Third, Haig was keen to see the use of cavalry in the offensive, and told Rawlinson to make 1st Cavalry and a company of Whippet tanks available to Monash. These would be deployed on the Australian right flank in the hope of breaking through and creating chaos after the taking of the Red Line.
Along with these provisions, both the Canadians and the Australians would be given a brigade of tanks, each comprising four battalions of fighting tanks – 144 in number – and a company of twenty-four carrier tanks. The British III Corps would have one battalion of Mark V tanks – thirty-six in number – and the Cavalry Corps two battalions of Whippets. The AIF was allotted forty-eight tanks (two tank companies, each of twenty-four tanks) to lead each division to the first objective, the Green Line. A further twenty-four tanks, along with any that had survived the initial advance, were allotted for the second stage of the attack, to the Red Line. For the third stage, the ‘exploitation’ phase, thirty-six Mark V tanks, one tank to 250 yards of front line, were allocated to get them to the Blue Line.
It was proposed that the French, situated south of the Canadian divisions, would attack simultaneously with five divisions on the first day, adding more divisions as the advance progressed, with as many as thirty divisions involved within a few days as the Third French Army joined the offensive. Like Haig, Foch kept details of the attack from his senior officers until the last possible moment, with divisional commanders only receiving details a week before the offensive was to be launched.
To divert attention from their plans for the Somme, the Allies made diversionary attacks in expected places and kept up the shelling, successfully playing into the Germans’ expectations while secretly moving troops to the south at night.
By late July, the Germans were beginning to appreciate the shift in the balance of power. Though still on an offensive footing, they were reluctantly conscious that the Allied armies were not defeated and were, in fact, being bolstered by American troops and British troops transferred from Palestine. If there was to be a threat of Allied counterattack, it was believed it would come from British attempts to recover lost ground in the north around Mount Kemmel and Ypres or along the Lys, and north around Arras. They believed the French would attack east of Rheims.
On 23 July, the Allies began to move into position. The side-slipping of the British Fourth Army’s boundary south, the relief of the Australian 5th Division by the British III Corps north of the Somme, and the takeover by the 4th Division of the northern part of the French line were considered by all, including the Germans, as just routine readjustments and redeployments – nothing to raise alarm or concern. Most importantly, the Germans seemed to remain unaware that Canadians were coming into the line.
The great fear among the Allied commanders, however, was that captured Allied troops might divulge news of the coming offensive while under interrogation, or even hint at the build-up of men and stores. This was first tested with the capture of Sergeant Samuel Acton and five men of the 51st Battalion by a German raiding party in the early hours of 4 August. High Command naturally feared the men might talk, not about details of the attack, which they knew nothing about, but about the extent of the build-up, the presence of the Canadians and the concentration of guns, stores and ammunition. As it happened the Germans found out nothing, and within twenty-four hours, after no further enemy raids, High Command was relieved. In German documents captured soon afterwards, it was found that the sergeant ‘refused to make any military statement and could not be shaken in his resolve by any means employed’.3
More ominously, a large number of British prisoners were captured near Morlancourt on 5 August, just across the river and close to the 8 August start line. The AIF’s 29th and 32nd Battalions had advanced the line there 1000 yards on 29 July, inflicting heavy casualties on the enemy. The night of their attack was cloudy and dull, and the recent rain had turned the communication trenches into wet, muddy channels, so the going was very heavy. The attack on a three-company front in two waves was made on a frontage of 2500 yards, with the objective being the enemy system of trenches. The 8th Brigade’s war diary recounts:
The artillery opened at zero and was very effective. At zero plus three the attacking troops moved forward, following the barrage closely. The first line of enemy trenches was reached and on the left the enemy fought our men with the bayonet. A bitter hand-to-hand fight ensued to which our men showed their superiority with this weapon and practically the whole of the front line troops opposite the left assaulting battalion were killed. On the right, the enemy managed to get a machine gun into action, but it was speedily overcome and the crew killed together with the garrison of the post numbering in all 20.4
By 1 am, ‘word was received that all objectives were captured and mopping up, consolidation and exploitation were in progress.’5 With this swift action, the Australians were able to capture the German front line and the support companies, with the estimate of enemy dead at 200. The action secured the heights above Morlancourt and the high ground further south of the Bray–Corbie road. Three small German counterattacks were driven off, and one enemy party that attempted to gain access to the Australians’ left flank was wiped out by two Lewis-gun crews. The Australian battalions lost two officers and sixteen other ranks were killed, while three officers and 141 other ranks were wounded, and three missing.
The determination of the men is exemplified by the courage of a 29th Battalion runner, Private Edwin Eric Baulch, a 24-year-old driver from Warrnambool in Victoria. He had been wounded early in the attack but carried on. Sent to deliver a message to his commanding officer, he was moving along a communication trench when a gas shell burst at his feet, blinding him. Unable to see, he began crawling, groping his way forward, determined to deliver his message ‘which contained information urgently required’.6 In this terrible condition, he was found by his CO. His first words, on recognising his CO’s voice, were, ‘I have a message for you sir.’7 Baulch rejoined his battalion in early September and returned to Australia on the Medic at the end of May 1919.
The new line was taken over by the British 55th Brigade the following day but the Germans quickly counterattacked, pushing the British back 1000 yards to the vicinity of a quarry where matériel and ammunition for the coming offensive were stored. In the following days, British counterattacks, while relentless, were unable to recapture the lost ground, a serious concern for Monash as his left flank on the north side of the Somme was now exposed.
The British retreat, with the loss of ground that resulted, was also strongly felt by the Australian troops after their hard-won fight a few days before. Bean notes:
ever since the arrival on the Somme–Ancre peninsula they [the Australians] had been steadily gaining ground, and they had never felt the slightest doubt in their ability to hold it. Yet here, as at Villers Bretonneux, no sooner had the front line been handed over to the British troops than the enemy seized it.8
The Germans reported capturing eight officers and 274 men, creating enormous concern that details of the planned offensive would be fed to the Germans. As Bean writes, ‘it was almost inconceivable that no hint of the coming offensive would leak out.’9 As night fell on 7 August, however, there was no indication that the Germans had any knowledge of the offensive, which, concludes Bean, was ‘very remarkable evidence of the staunchness of the average Englishman in such a predicament’.10 This and other incidents where men stumbled into the German lines, or were captured in no-man’s-land, also did not lead to the Germans acquiring valuable information about the offensive.
The reason for this, of course, was that none of the soldiers knew anything. Had this been 1916, the coming offensive would have been common knowledge in cafes and estaminets, in un-coded transmissions, lost maps and idle talk. But things were very different in 1918. Communications were far more secure, and coded messages had become standard for radio transmission. Security was tight at Monash’s headquarters in Bertangles Château where maps, plans and documents were numbered, and their distribution limited. Details of the attack were known to only a few officers; for example, senior officers of the AIF’s Pioneer Battalion had no definite information until thirty-six hours before the attack, even though their role involved long-term preparation.
The troops were not dumb, however. Those who had been transferred to the Somme from the north had a shrewd suspicion that they would not have been transferred there unless something major was in the planning. In the 46th Battalion, ‘The rank and file had absolutely no idea what was happening, they knew that an attack was imminent, but when and where was an absolute mystery to them. Little did they know that they were about to be involved in one of the greatest allied offensives of the war.’11
Training schedules were also a giveaway, as they focused on musketry and Lewis-gun training, along with the familiarisation with German weapons and tactics. There had been toughening-up exercises, route marches, swimming in the Somme and sports meetings, and concerts at night – all for fitness and morale. And then there were the inspections and battalion parades: ‘A few inspections from the heads and it’s a case of “into the line” again. We know it only too well. It’s not the first time we’ve seen the cooks inspecting the geese.’12
The men would also have been aware of the extensive preparation and organisation going on around them, with fourteen infantry divisions, three cavalry divisions, over 3000 field guns, 450 tanks and seventeen RAF squadrons all concentrated west of Villers-Bretonneux along the Somme. As the men watched, huge dumps of stores were created, guns were brought up and camouflaged, roads repaired and bridges built and then disassembled before dawn, water points laid out, command and medical posts erected and equipped – all at night and all in secret. Between dusk and dawn, the roads were a seething mass of traffic, guns, limbers and marching men, all arriving without confusion and haste. And then, with the arrival of dawn, just the normal activities of an active front line.
The men of the AIF took confidence from their belief in their celebrated general, and trusted his planning, resupply and concern for their welfare. Knowing the importance of fresh troops, Monash ordered that the men be billeted as close as possible to the start line and that they be given complete rest for the day or two preceding the attack.13 He also made it clear that, after thorough planning and deep consideration of the details of the offensive, there would be no last-minute changes, an important step to gain the confidence and trust of his officers, and ultimately his men: ‘Thus every commander knew exactly where he stood, and the “order, counter-order, disorder” sequence that had marred so many military enterprises, was happily eliminated.’14
Monash was also concerned about the condition of the roads, especially the Roman road where the cavalry would form up on the night of 7 August, so he had engineers build a track there during the night. He also had two cables buried within 1000 to 1200 yards of the start line, ‘and the provision included trench or loop-sets of wireless for each brigade’.15 He located headquarters as close to the front as possible, ideally within line of sight of the advance, and carefully allocated separate roads for motor traffic, horse-drawn vehicles and tanks. He also cleared lanes for the return of the wounded.
There was also the unresolved issue of the projecting Chipilly ridge, high ground rising from the northern bank of the river. Chipilly was a key defensive position for the Germans and had been discussed in the earliest planning days of the offensive. In June, Monash had proposed that the heights north of the river be attacked, which was undertaken by two Australian battalions on 31 July. The British were left with two objectives: the first, Mallard and Célestins woods, and the second, the Chipilly Spur, including Gressaire Wood and part of the Bois de Tailles.
Another major concern for Monash was a possible gas attack in the vast forming-up areas stretching back two miles from the front, particularly in the forested areas like Bois l’Abbe, and Hangard and Lancer woods. Should this happen, the artillery were instructed to immediately commence counter-battery fire, forgetting the need to hide the guns, and quickly eliminate the threat of gas on the massed troop formations. Contingency plans were also crucial.
On the morning of 7 August, a letter from Monash was issued to the battalions as part of the final briefing. From this, Bean states, ‘Monash applied to it his full power of minute forethought, immense care, and pellucid exposition, and even in this night march the men felt that whatever might lie in front, all was right behind them.’16
Battalions were assembled in the afternoon and commanding officers briefed their men on the upcoming attack, explaining the night advance to the start line, the deployment, the leapfrogging and the objectives. It was Monash’s policy to ensure that the men knew as much about the battle ahead, their objectives and the supporting arms and preparations made. While these details could be shared with the enemy, the benefits were the impact on morale and the knowledge that the men went into the attack fully briefed on what was expected of them. With low recruitment levels in Australia and dwindling reinforcements, battalions had become more self-sufficient – even, some argued, elitist17 – and totally reliant on their command structure, their quartermaster and an emphasis on welfare, health and training. At this time, the men heard Monash’s letter to the troops, which said in part:
For the first time in the history of this corps all five Australian Divisions will tomorrow engage in the largest and most important battle operation ever undertaken by the Corps. They will be supported by exceptionally powerful artillery and by tanks and aeroplanes on a scale never previously attempted. Because of the completeness of our plans and dispositions, of the magnitude of the operations, of the number of troops employed and the depth on which we intend to overrun the enemy’s positions, this battle will be one of the most memorable of the war and … we shall inflict a blow upon the enemy which will make him stagger and will bring the end appreciably nearer. I entertain no sort of doubt that every Australian soldier will worthily rise to so great an occasion … for the sake of AUSTRALIA, the Empire and our cause.18
So secret were Monash’s plans that zero hour was not finally fixed until twelve hours before the attack. The weather and fog, crucial factors in the attack, could not be predetermined. The actual time for zero hour was to be relayed to battalions by a simple code: if it was to be before 4 am, the minutes would be in issues of butter, and if after 4 am in issues of jam. When zero hour was fixed at 4.20 am, the order went out to send twenty rations of jam to headquarters at once. One officer, not privy to the code, actually believed this was a serious request and searched high and low among his men to part with their jam ration. Not long after a runner turned up at battalion headquarters and presented the adjutant with a small parcel of jam, saying, ‘With Capt. Bisdee’s compliment, sir, he can’t get 20 rations, but here’s enough for 12.’19
An hour before sunset on the evening of 7 August, a random German shell of small calibre fell among supply tanks lined up in an orchard on the northern outskirts of Villers-Bretonneux. One tank caught fire, igniting the others. As the flames spread, tanks began exploding due to the mortar ammunition, petrol and other flammable contents within them. All but three were destroyed, a serious setback to the 5th Division as these were the tanks for their resupply.
More importantly, as a result of this shelling there were questions about whether the Germans had learnt of the offensive, and if not, what they would make of this enormous conflagration so close to the front. Would they follow up with a more intense bombardment, or be ready when the attack was launched? It was a tense and worrying time for the 5th Division’s commander, General Hobbs, whose tanks were destroyed, and for Monash and his staff waiting in the rear. Fortunately, the Germans didn’t seem to realise that this conflagration was evidence of a massive build-up close to their line.
The moonlit night was bright and clear, though a chill in the air kept the men alert, particularly as they waited to move out. To make conditions more challenging, a ground fog arose. Closing their quarters and leaving their tent lines, the men moved out in single file, some coming up along the towpath by the river, where the faint smell of gas lingered in the air. Battalions moved along access roads on predetermined lines of advance, through Villers-Bretonneux and past Hamel. To assist the advance, petrol tins with battalion numbers punched into them, into which a lit candle was placed and set up on poles, marked the lines of advance to the tapes.
It was not only the infantry divisions that would mount the attack moving forward, but also the supporting divisions, specialist units, resupply, medical services and ammunition that would maintain the attack over the coming weeks. The 6th Machine Gun Company moved from their camp at 6 pm, led by mounted officers. As their captain was keen to avoid marching and unnecessarily tiring his men, they sat in GS (general service) wagons with limbers following them, carrying their sixteen machine guns, gear and ammunition. The battalion history notes, ‘The sight of the loaded waggons brought forth many pleasantries from less fortunate individuals who wanted to know “where’s the picnic?” Passing through Glisy and to the left of Blangy-Tronville, the cheery party moved on.’20 With them, men, wagons, motor lorries, tanks and cavalry moved towards the line.
The night remained quiet, with random shelling and contacts up and down the line, but nothing to indicate the Germans were aware of the enormous build-up under way. At the southern end of the line, at 12.30 am, the 27th Battalion started to move along the edge of Villers-Bretonneux, arriving at their assembly point at 3.30 am. Almost immediately, the Germans began shelling the 7th Brigade front north of the railway, the shells falling mainly on the 26th and 27th Battalions as they formed up. Counter-battery fire quickly smothered the German batteries, but only after the 27th Battalion had sustained fifteen casualties.
Hour upon hour, battalions of eager, confident Allied troops marched along the approach roads, a seemingly endless procession stretching back ten miles. Everything and everyone was moving forward, the men conscious that every possible contingency had been considered, every opportunity noted, and that victory, even revenge, was within grasp.
The men were heavily laden for the task ahead. Each carried a rifle and 200 rounds, a bayonet, rations for two days, two water bottles, four Mills bombs, a pick or shovel and five sandbags. Others carried stretchers and flare pistols, while specialist units, like bombers, were issued smoke and rifle grenades.
Earlier in the night, the tapes had been carefully laid out by intelligence officers and engineers using hand signals; this was dangerous, silent work, yet work that was important to the forming-up of the attacking battalions. Occasionally a German flare would light the sky, forcing the men to remain in whatever position they were when the flare went up. Standing in the glow would have been a frightening experience, as they waited until the flare gradually floated to earth and went out. Also working away were the sappers, cutting holes in the barbed wire for the attacking troops to move forward. Private J. S. Finney of the 44th Battalion noted:
At times we would hear the muffled snip of the wire cutters … that seemed like the crack of a whip. We knew then that another stumbling block in the form of a wire was cut. It was now Fritz who took it into his head to gives us a good-night salvo and overcame his ‘iron rations’. We get down full length in the nearest hole and patiently wait (as there is nothing we could do) until he’s considered he’s done enough. On this ceasing, he traversed a machine gun two or three times and then settled down for the night. After waiting a few minutes, we soon get going again and was not long in getting the job through.21
The men were excited about the possibilities of an offensive, and the opportunity for ‘ratting’ (stealing from) prisoners. Many were in high spirits, like those of the 39th Battalion who, a few hours before going forward, ‘held a high carnival in Corbie. Fancy costumes had been found in one of the houses. They “dressed up” and sang appropriate songs until it was time to march to the assembly point. Shortly after 11pm the platoon marched out of Corbie.’22
Other men were not so happy, having been left behind to form the ‘nucleus’ of their battalion should there be high casualties in the attack. Many pleaded with their officers to be allowed to go, stating they had been in the battalion since the early days, but these were the very men who needed to be retained. Leaving a battalion nucleus out of a battle was a common practice, so that should the battalion be wiped out men would still remain as the foundation to rebuild it. Generally men were happy to be part of this nucleus, but not on this important occasion.
It was feared the dense fog would prevent British aircraft taking off but somehow they did, and their contributing noise was crucial to cover the advance of the tanks. With the continual roar and buzz, ‘the tank engines, throttled down, were inaudible even to the waiting Australians except a few who were very close.’23 With the tanks, long lines of troops moved silently forward, marching by company with sections advancing twenty yards apart, past the guns lined practically wheel on wheel, the camouflage thrown aside and their crews standing ready. Mixed in were men of the 13th Light Horse Regiment, distributed earlier among the four divisions, to undertake traffic control.
Not all men were advancing. The Regimental Medical Officer for the 44th Battalion, Captain S. L. Germon, noted, ‘One of the men of the battalion was sleeping in a hole in the ground, somewhat like a grave. During the night a tank passed right over the hole, awakening and startling him considerably, but in no way damaging him.’24
The engineers, too, were busy. They erected prefabricated bridges at points along both the river and the canal at Fouilloy east of Corbie, and near the ferryman’s house, ‘Circular Quay’, at Vaire-sous-Corbie. As the advance continued, they constructed bridges at Gailly and Bouzencourt. They also searched dugouts for traps and mines, tested and repaired wells, established horse watering points, did reconnaissance work and placed signposts. Anticipating the destruction of roads, Monash allocated each company a stretch of road to maintain, for example, ‘C’ Company the road from Hamel to the front line, and ‘A’ Company the road through Cerisy. For this, a store of stone and brick rubble was compiled and its transport made ready, with thirty-two tip trays provided, fully loaded and parked at Vaire for crucial road work.
By 3.45 am, the assembly was complete. Lying on the ground along their start line, 100,000 men were spread out in wheat fields and flat grasslands in the rolling hills south of Villers-Bretonneux, in woodland and among undergrowth or in the swampy lowland along the Somme waiting for zero hour. With them, nearly 350 Mark V tanks plus 120 supply tanks spread along a fourteen-mile front, all covered by 3000 guns. Ahead, the Green Line, 4000 yards out; then the Red Line, a further 5000 yards away; and finally the Blue Line, 1000 yards beyond that.
The men awaited the attack with keenness and confidence, eager to come to grips with the enemy. They checked their mates’ equipment, ensuring nothing rattled and everything was in order. Monash had instructed that a hot meal be served to the men before starting out and this had been done at midnight, with the cookers moving right up to the line to follow the advance. Nearby, asleep and unaware, were six divisions of German troops, oblivious to the grim, bloody day ahead.