Deborah and the War of the Tanks

But most of the crews had more to contend with than breakdowns and boredom. D49 Dollar Princess had crossed the main Hindenburg Support line and was heading for the support trench in front of Flesquières when it became ditched and suffered a direct hit, near the spot where Second Lieutenant Wilfred Bion defied the enemy from the roof of his wrecked tank. Dollar Princess’s commander, Second Lieutenant John McNiven, escaped unhurt, though his section commander Captain Graeme Nixon, who was probably on board, was slightly wounded. It was a frustrating end to the battle for McNiven, who liked to grab life with both hands and whose favourite saying was: ‘If a little is good, a lot is better.’ He later recalled: ‘One of my men received a nasty wound in the upper thigh and groin. I poured an entire bottle of iodine into the wound, while the boy cursed me. Later I saw him in the field hospital and he said I had saved his life.’² The destruction of Dollar Princess gives a vital clue to the whereabouts of Deborah, since they were both in the same section and the tanks were still operating together wherever possible.

As they went forward, Second Lieutenant Frank Heap and his crew must have glimpsed the devastation around them, the tanks engulfed in flames along the skyline to their right, and the crewmen struggling to drag themselves and their wounded comrades clear from the withering fire. They would have heard the machine-gun bullets that struck Deborah’s flanks like sledgehammer blows,³ leaving the pitted marks that can be seen there to this day. And somehow, in the midst of all this, Heap and his driver spotted the only way that would lead directly to their objective, an entrance they could slip through that would take them into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, sheltered from the field guns that were exacting a dreadful toll from those who tried to pass the village on either side.

The route they had spotted took them along the road leading from Ribécourt into Flesquières, past the long brick wall over which Second Lieutenant Bion had directed his fire, and past the gap in the wall where the Germans had swarmed like angry hornets. It led straight into the centre of the village, which was still thick with enemy troops, though there were no field guns to worry about there, and the infantry had no weapons that were truly effective against tanks.

At some point, did Frank Heap pause to question the course he was about to take? Was he aware there were no other tanks or infantry following, and did he ask himself what they could hope to achieve by pressing on, alone and unsupported? Did he wonder how they – eight men and a monstrous machine – could hope to subdue the village single-handed, when so many other tanks had been destroyed or driven back?

Perhaps a more experienced commander might have decided it was pointless to proceed. For example, Captain Harold Head, who had commanded tanks on the Somme in 1916 and then at Arras and Passchendaele, and had just survived the bloodbath on the western side of Flesquières, later recalled his guiding principle: ‘I never took my tank in anywhere I couldn’t get it out of again.’⁴

But Frank Heap was determined to carry out his mission, and he and his crew would press on until they reached the Brown Line which marked their final objective, now less than half-a-mile ahead, and nothing on earth would stop them. There was no time for doubt, or any other emotion, as Deborah ground slowly forwards into the eye of the storm. Instead Frank must have concentrated on checking the map which marked the route to their final destination, and hammering messages to the gearsmen crouching in the noise and darkness behind, and wiping the sweat from his eyes to squint through the tiny peepholes in search of a flash of field-grey which would betray the presence of the enemy. The sensation was described by another soldier as he attacked in his armoured vehicle in a later conflict: ‘Your heart is banging away, your body does not feel like you own it. It’s like your whole life has been sharpened to a point, and that point is that one single minute. Everything that’s gone before is like nothing.’⁵

By 10 a.m., it was obvious to Major Fritz Hofmeister, commander of 84th Infantry Regiment, that the defence of Flesquières was hanging in the balance. His soldiers were struggling to hold onto their positions, while the artillery were locked in a fight to the death with the tanks that were threatening the village on both sides. His 1st and 2nd Battalions had clearly been overwhelmed in the front line, and the counter-attacks by units of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment had made no headway. The last of these forays had been led by Major Günther Stubenrauch, whose men were now trapped somewhere in front of the village, and Major Hofmeister was determined to send help.

The man he turned to was Leutnant S. Osenbrück, ordnance officer of his 3rd Battalion, who was ordered to muster everyone he could and launch a counter-attack down Havrincourt-Riegel (the communication trench known to the British as Cemetery Alley). As he set out on his mission, Osenbrück was lucky to bump into a company of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment who were coming out of Flesquières. They were even luckier to bump into him, because they were about to run straight into two of D Battalion’s tanks near the crossroads west of the village. Osenbrück described what happened next:

‘Stop! Tanks! Go right, into the Pioneer Park!’ I’m already over there. Two officers from the other company introduce themselves. ‘No time – counter-attack in this direction! Spread out to the right. Further forward on the right! Get out of cover on the left!’

‘Herr Leutnant, it’s coming this way!’

‘Where? Open fire, men! Machine gun here! Let’s go, look lively!’

‘It’s jammed!’

‘Then take hand grenades. Now over the top, and cheer! You’ll be fine – I’ve only got a stick! Leutnant Brockers, take over the right flank, get them into the open. Leutnant Höfer, further forward with your platoon.’

Tacca-tacca-tacca-tack! The tank at the crossroads rattles away with its machine gun into the treetops. ‘Off we go, men, forward! Can’t you see he’s firing into the trees?’⁶

‘Herr Leutnant, a tank is driving through the village behind us.’

‘Just let it go, man. The artillery will knock it out for sure when it comes out the other side. We’re staying here whatever happens, and now it’s going forward. March, march! Hurrah!’

‘Herr Leutnant, the tank is moving even further ahead.’

‘For God’s sake, let it go! Forward march!’

Tacca-tacca-tacca-tack! Boom! Crash! A stink of phosphorus. The tank in the village is really letting us have it. Just keep calm. ‘Everyone stay down. The enemy must not come any further. Set up the machine guns in front of the sandheap. Leutnant Haufmann, you stay with the machine gun.’

Tack! Tack! Tacca-tacca-tacca-tack! Leutnant Haufmann is shot in the stomach. ‘Two volunteers, here!’ Leutnant Höfer gets hit in the stomach as well. ‘Leutnant Bielenberg, you take charge. This line must be held. I’m going for reinforcements!’⁷

In another account, Leutnant Osenbrück told how ‘a tank travelling through Flesquières fired at us vigorously during this counter-attack, which made it extremely difficult for me to hold back the frightened men’,⁸ while Leutnant Bielenberg described their efforts to calm down the soldiers who were gripped by a ‘tank panic’.⁹

Deborah was doing exactly what she was designed for, moving in behind the enemy to demoralize and destroy them. Her Lewis guns inflicted a number of casualties, probably including Leutnant Höfer who died soon afterwards from his stomach wound. The German counter-attack still went ahead and apparently succeeded in driving the attackers back – but not in reaching Major Stubenrauch, who was captured before getting anywhere near the survivors of 1st Battalion, 84th Infantry Regiment in Havrincourt. Their commander, Hauptmann Wilhelm Wille, saw Stubenrauch after they had both been taken prisoner: ‘I called to him, he shrugged his shoulders and said: “There was nothing to be done.”’¹⁰ Meanwhile the commander of 84th Regiment, the ‘giant’ Major Hofmeister, was fatally wounded by a tank and Major Erich Krebs, commander of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment, took charge of the forces holding Flesquières.

Frank Heap estimated they expended a total of 4,000 rounds during the battle,¹¹ and since a Lewis gun fired at least 500 rounds a minute, this means all five guns could have fired continuously for more than one-and-a-half minutes. This, in itself, shows they found no shortage of targets.

Following this clash, Deborah moved forward to the crossroads at the centre of Flesquières and swung slowly right onto the road leading out of the village towards Anneux and Cantaing – and towards the Brown Line. Only 250 yards later she reached the edge of the village, and for the first time Frank Heap had a heart-stopping glimpse of the fabled green fields beyond. Here Deborah halted in the lee of a battered farm building, and perhaps – as his family speculate – he climbed out to take a compass bearing and check they were on course. If so he was certainly fearless, since the village was still swarming with enemy soldiers and he could easily have been shot the moment he climbed out of his tank.

But as it turned out, the danger came from another direction altogether, and it was safer to be outside the tank than in.

Leutnant Osenbrück had promised his men that the artillery would destroy Deborah as she emerged from the village, and luckily for them a number of gun batteries were still standing by ready for action. Among them were men of 213th Field Artillery Regiment, who had been rushed into position in response to the prisoners’ revelations of an imminent attack. The details are sketchy, so it is impossible to be certain, but No. 9 Battery was near the road that Deborah took out of Flesquières towards Anneux. Leutnant Richter from this battery described what happened:

For some time the first infantrymen had been coming back through our position and told the worst horror stories. Eventually I succeeding in stopping a Feldwebelleutnant [i.e. warrant officer], who was slightly wounded in the head, as he passed through our position with five infantrymen and a machine gun with three boxes of ammunition. He took up a position with his men on a steep slope right behind the battery and supported us very effectively during the following period. The guns were dragged out of their pits to give better manoeuvrability. We ceased firing altogether …

Retiring infantrymen described the hordes of tanks, and shortly afterwards just such a monster appeared at the village exit of Flesquieres and was knocked out by me with the third shot at 275 metres. A column of flames showed a hit in the petrol tank. Two of our men ran over, and told on their return of the half-charred corpses of the tank crew. They also brought with them a rubber coat, in whose pocket we found an order for the attack. An NCO took it back to the divisional position, along with an urgent request for ammunition or limbers.¹²

One of the infantrymen who stood guard over the battery was Ersatz Reservist Schäfer of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment: ‘We then had to pull back behind Flesquières to an artillery position. Under the command of Feldwebelleutnant Reinsch we there dragged the guns out of their pits; they had hit and put out of action a tank that emerged at the left (eastern) exit from Flesquières.’¹³

No. 8 Battery was also nearby, and Leutnant Neymeyr described a similar encounter, though his estimate of the time was improbably early: ‘Already at around 9 o’clock [i.e. 8 a.m. UK time] infantrymen and gunners came back from the front, half-an-hour later whole squads of field and foot artillerymen who had blown up their guns or let them fall into the hands of the enemy as the case may be. At the same time we caught sight of a tank at the eastern exit of Flesquieres and knocked it out with a few shots. We were badly under pressure, as we only had around twenty more shells which we now saved for the direst emergency.’¹⁴

Leutnant Möhring of 108th Pioneer Company also witnessed the final moments of a tank which may have been Deborah: ‘One tank drove through the village and came up the road towards Noyelles. It was rendered harmless by the battery (around 200 metres east of the village) with its third shot.’¹⁵

A few days later, Leutnant Osenbrück of 84th Infantry Regiment was discussing the battle with his men: ‘“Does anyone know what became of the tank that rolled behind us through Flesquières?” “Yes, Herr Leutnant! We took care of it. It got a broadside from a gun that was standing in a barn at the exit of the village. A 15cm [i.e. a howitzer, known to the British as a ‘5.9’]. Only a couple of the gunners were still there – they aimed the gun, and we dragged the ammunition to it. We did a good job on them!”’¹⁶

Whichever battery it was that fired on Deborah, the effects were devastating. A volley of shells punched neat holes through the armour on the left side of the tank, but photographs taken a few months later show no visible damage to the right side¹⁷ – which means the catastrophic blasts that tore her apart, leaving the front a tangled mass of steel, were inflicted later on.

But the detonation of the shells inside the confined space, followed by the fire which engulfed the interior, meant there was no chance for the crewmen inside. The side door beneath the sponson had been pushed open, and Frank Heap must have been sickened by what he saw spilling out of it. But for now there was no time to take in the horror, and it was enough to know that four of his crewmen had been killed outright.

The official account indicates that Deborah opened fire on the field guns before they knocked her out, describing how Frank Heap ‘fought his tank with great gallantry and skill, leading the infantry on to five objectives. He proceeded through the village and engaged a battery of enemy field guns from which his tank received five direct hits, killing four of his crew.’¹⁸ Their achievement was also recorded in the battalion’s history: ‘Only one tank succeeded in going through the village, and this tank was knocked out at the eastern edge immediately it emerged from the shelter of the houses.’¹⁹

Captain Edward Glanville Smith’s version differed only in detail: ‘Tanks pushed on, but were unsupported and could do nothing. Lieut. [sic] Heap … courageously made his way to the far end of the village, but, on showing the nose of his tank beyond the last house, received two direct hits from a gun laid on to this spot and had four of his crew killed outright.’²⁰

The dead men were Gunner Joseph Cheverton, killed on the day he turned twenty, along with Gunner Fred Tipping, the father of three young children, and Gunner George Foot who had endured the vigil in No Man’s Land with his wounded officer a year before. The other victim was Gunner William Galway, the ‘true Irish gentleman’ who had survived the first day of the Somme, and Frank Heap’s tribute shows he never lost his sense of humour: ‘He kept us in shrieks of laughter right up to the moment of his death, and died with a laugh on his lips.’²¹

Frank Heap could do nothing for his comrades, or for the fifth crewman – still unidentified – who had been killed during the attack. But somehow two crewmen survived along with Heap, and they now found themselves in the worst possible situation: cut off inside a German-held village, armed with nothing more than revolvers, and facing the oncoming Highlanders who might well mistake them for the enemy, even if they could reach them across No Man’s Land.

Meanwhile German soldiers were retreating down the road past the blazing tank; so whatever they did, they had better do it quickly.

At around this time, Major Watson arrived at the Grand Ravine and discovered the full scale of the setback:

We found ourselves in the open with a tank a hundred yards away. We walked to it and discovered my section-commander, Wyatt, with Morris, who had been hit in the shoulder. They told me that we were held up outside Flesquieres, which was being cleverly defended by field guns. Several tanks had already been knocked out and others had nearly finished their petrol. And there was an unpleasant rumour that Marris was killed.

We took to a narrow half-completed communication trench and pushed on up the hill towards the village, meeting the survivors of two crews of [E Battalion], whose tanks had been knocked out in endeavouring to enter Flesquieres from the east along the crest of the ridge. The trench was being shelled. From the sound of the guns it appeared that they were only a few hundred yards away. We walked steadily up the trench until we came to the railway embankment, five or six hundred yards from the outskirts of the village, and we could go no farther, for on the other side of the embankment were the enemy and some of my tanks.²²

With Ward and Marris both out of action, Watson was the most senior officer on the scene. It was obvious the attack had broken down, but far less obvious to him – or anyone else – what to do about it. Perhaps R.O.C. Ward would have reacted differently, but for Watson the priorities were to let the other units know what was happening, and to find out more about the situation.

These were both sensible steps, but with hindsight it does seem he might have delegated them to others. Watson was accompanied by his second-in-command, the seasoned regular Major Richard Cooper, and his reconnaissance officer, Lieutenant Frederick ‘Jumbo’ King, who would appear to be obvious candidates for the two roles. Instead Watson left them in situ, and set off on a long trek across the battlefield which took him out of contact for much of the day. This is not to suggest that he could have done anything had he stayed; but at least he would have been there if the situation changed.

First he went back two miles (or three kilometres) to the nearest infantry battalion headquarters to inform them that Flesquières had not, as they believed, been taken, sending messages at the same time to inform Lieutenant-Colonel Kyngdon, who he believed to be at the infantry brigade headquarters in Trescault. The infantry commander did not believe the report, so Watson set off on a hazardous reconnaissance with his scout officer, who was finally convinced when they had to crawl on their hands and knees to avoid machine-gun fire from the village, one bullet striking the heel of Watson’s boot.

By his own account, it was ‘a few hours’²³ before Major Watson met up with anyone else from D Battalion; and a great deal had happened in the meantime.

By late morning, the lead battalions of the 51st Division had therefore seized the main trench in front of Flesquières, known as Hindenburg Support, and in some places they had fought their way through to the next line, known as Flesquières Trench, but all their efforts to advance further had been beaten back by small-arms fire from the village. In most cases the tanks had succeeded in crushing paths through the wire, but many had been destroyed by close-range artillery fire, and those that survived were now dangerously low on petrol. Without their support to tackle the enemy’s machine guns, the infantry had little chance of moving into the village while the Germans were defending it so tenaciously. In addition, the British field guns had begun their scheduled move forward to keep up with the advance, so there was no chance of a further bombardment, even if this could be arranged. There was no obvious solution to this impasse.

While all this was going on, the great force of cavalry had also begun its planned move forward to take over the next stage of the operation. Sir Douglas Haig was convinced the success of the battle would hinge on their ability to capture Bourlon Ridge – a low hill with its sinister crest of dark woodland, from which anyone who held it could overlook and ultimately dominate the entire region west of Cambrai. Since the ridge lay some five miles (or eight kilometres) behind the German lines, it was beyond the reach of most infantry and tanks, and the only realistic hope of taking it on the first day lay with the cavalry, who were still unsurpassed on the battlefield for speed and mobility.²⁴

The entire Cavalry Corps was standing by to take part in the battle, just as the entire Tank Corps had done, and one might say they had just as much riding on it. Both arms had struggled to demonstrate their value in the prevailing military conditions, though the events of the last few hours suggested this assessment would have to be revised in the case of tanks. Now the time was coming for the cavalry to sweep forward, but before that the tanks had to give them one final push.

At the planning stage, much thought had been given to the preparation of routes suitable for horses, which could not negotiate the narrow paths crushed by tanks through the barbed wire. The solution was to provide a special force of wire-pulling tanks carrying huge grapnels like a ship’s anchor attached to a cable, with which they would drag the wire aside to clear a way for the cavalry.

This force was commanded by Captain the Honourable John Bingham, who had spent a frustrating summer awaiting the order to charge his specially adapted tanks up the sea-wall near Ostend to spearhead the aborted coastal landing known as ‘Operation Hush’. This time his efforts met with greater success, as described by Captain Stuart Hastie from D Battalion, who commanded a party of wire-pullers:

The tank passed into the belt of wire dropping the grapnel as it proceeded, passed through the wire and turned to the right and proceeded up parallel to the belt of wire. The effect of this was to roll the grapnel and roll up the wire, pulling up stakes and everything until we had a mound of wire as high as a cottage, at which point the tank could go no further on account of the … tremendous weight of this wire, and the cable was cut and the tank left to join the other fighting tanks in the battle, leaving behind it a gap of at least sixty yards from which every strand of wire and every post had been torn up and rolled up.²⁵

Once again, the Germans’ thoroughness counted against them, and the thickly matted belts of wire and stakes were easily dragged aside leaving a number of routes clear for the cavalry, including one from Trescault to Ribécourt and beyond.

No fewer than five cavalry divisions were to take part in the attack, consisting of 27,500 men plus horses,²⁶ with 1st Cavalry Division positioned directly behind the sector being attacked by D and E Battalions. Their planned approach route to Bourlon would take them through Ribécourt and then on a long, curving sweep to the east past Bois des Neufs, or Nine Wood, near the village of Marcoing. But if the situation permitted, they were to take a more direct route to Bourlon by going over the Flesquières ridge.

In the village of Metz-en-Couture behind the lines, Lance-Corporal Willie Pennie of 4th Bn Seaforth Highlanders witnessed the astonishing sight as 1st Cavalry Division moved forward to take part in the attack: ‘The British cavalry began to make their appearance on the horizon about 8 o’clock passing through Metz on the road leading toward the lines. They came on in an endless line as far as the eye could reach till after 12 o’clock, a never to be forgotten spectacle as they passed within a [hundred yards] of our camp – Scots Greys, Lancers, Royal Horse Artillery, and last but by no means least the Bengal Lancers.’²⁷

At 11.07, the headquarters of IV Corps – which was more than eight miles (or nearly thirteen kilometres) behind the front line, in the village of Villers-au-Flos – finally received the news it had been hoping for from 51st Division: ‘Our men seen on Flesquieres line on both [brigade] fronts.’²⁸

Eight minutes later, IV Corps headquarters flashed the news to 1st Cavalry Division, which was under its command: ‘Road from Trescault … to Flesquieres reported fit for cavalry. Flesquieres now taken. Push forward through Brown Line.’²⁹ The next phase of the attack had begun.

Three minutes later, 1st Cavalry Division passed on the order to its 2nd Cavalry Brigade: ‘Flesquieres reported taken. Push on via Trescault to Flesquieres.’³⁰ From 2nd Cavalry Brigade, the message was passed to their leading unit, the 4th Dragoon Guards, who had already moved up as far as Ribécourt. Fortunately this did not – as one might expect – trigger a doomed cavalry charge into a hail of machine-gun fire. In fact, the effect was rather the opposite.

The 4th Dragoon Guards could see perfectly well what was happening ahead, and it was obvious Flesquières had not been taken, while even Ribécourt itself was not entirely secure. Lieutenant David Williams recalled: ‘We could see tanks alight and burning on the crest of the ridge, and the Scottish division who were supposed to be advancing with the tanks were pinned down on the slope and there was no possibility of advancing.’³¹

The Dragoon Guards were sent to investigate, but like Major Watson they only got as far as the railway embankment in front of the village.³² Their arrival was witnessed by an officer of 8th Bn Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders who were holding the position: ‘I can remember looking back over the valley and seeing what appeared to be tens of thousands of horsemen, and it was one of the most magnificent and inspiring sights one could imagine … One regiment rode up behind the embankment and the C.O. asked many questions which I answered to the best of my ability. However, after a short stay they about-turned and rode back down the valley.’³³

The commander of 2nd Cavalry Brigade then went to the Grand Ravine in person to see if they could move through Flesquières, and ‘realised the impossibility of executing this order … I therefore returned to the advance regiment, ordered them to leave Flesquieres alone, to turn Ribécourt from the South and proceed as quickly as possible to Bois des Neuf.’³⁴

An immediate bloodbath had been averted, but several hours had been wasted in the confusion. In the words of Lieutenant David Williams: ‘The mistake was ever directing us to Flesquières … Regimental commanders should be given a free hand and merely told their objectives and told to get on as fast as they could, and not given detailed orders which turned out to be entirely wrong.’³⁵

A subsequent report sent to Sir Douglas Haig said that ordering the Dragoon Guards into Flesquières had ‘sounded the first note of the death knell of the cavalry operations, and the officer who carried it out or prepared to do so, completed the funeral ceremony. Three hours were wasted here of precious daylight, and nothing accomplished except the extinguishing of the possibility of any further valuable cavalry operations on Z day [i.e. 20 November].’³⁶

Later there was much buck-passing between IV Corps and 1st Cavalry Division about who was to blame, but for now the race was on to overcome the delay. As the long columns of horsemen clattered away to the east, they knew time was running out and there was now little chance of taking Bourlon Wood before the end of that short November day.

During the afternoon small groups of cavalry did approach Flesquières to probe its defences, and the outcome demonstrates their appalling vulnerability on the modern battlefield. They belonged to King Edward’s Horse, a unit made up of volunteers from the colonies and attached to the attacking divisions. Their commanding officer told how one patrol, led by Lieutenant Arthur Tutt, ‘made a determined effort to find a line through the enemy trenches to the north-east. It carried out its task with great courage and dash but only succeeded in establishing the fact that the enemy still occupied a strong and continuous line on the further edge of the slope.’ Lieutenant Tutt and his second-in-command were both severely wounded.³⁷

Leutnant Möhring of 108th Pioneer Company described the same encounter: ‘Towards 3 p.m. [i.e. 2 p.m. UK time] around two squadrons of English cavalry came riding towards us north-east of Flesquières, all on beautiful black horses with white blazes. We let them come to within 150 metres and then opened up with machine-gun fire. They immediately turned tail and rushed away in a wild flight with heavy losses, even through the barbed wire entanglement where many more horses fell.’³⁸

Although Frank Heap and two of his crew had survived Deborah’s final journey, the danger was far from over, and they now had to somehow slip back to their own lines, avoiding capture or worse at the hands of the Germans who were still occupying the village.

It was vital to get away from their burning tank as quickly as possible, and the route they chose took them due south, behind the backs of the buildings lining the street up which they had come. But this also led them straight into a key enemy stronghold, the wooded grounds of the château farm, where they could see machine-gunners firing at the advancing British from behind the massive brick wall.

Second Lieutenant James Macintosh must have heard what happened directly from Frank Heap, his brother officer in No. 12 Company: ‘On the right of Flesquières, one tank had succeeded in penetrating to the farther edge of the village; here it was blasted, four of the crew were killed outright, and the survivors crept back through the empty streets. The commander observed a machine gun in full operation from behind the shelter of the château wall, and was compelled to pass it by …’³⁹

Soon after this, their worst fears were realized, as recounted by Second Lieutenant Macintosh: ‘… round the next corner he met a party of the enemy face to face, and for a moment neither could decide whether to surrender or to claim surrender, but in the nick of time a Jock scout appeared with bombs, and the Boches fled – eleven from two.’⁴⁰

Decades later, Frank Heap’s grandson Will Heap came across an old service revolver inside a trunk at the family home. ‘It was massively heavy, a fearsome thing. I told my father about it, and he said “that probably saved your grandfather’s life”. The story was that Frank had gone round a corner and there were lots of Germans there, and he thought “they’re going to kill me”, so he pointed his revolver at them and they all stuck their hands up. And he ordered them in German to stay there, and carried on.’⁴¹

The revolver was handed in to the police by Frank’s son, but one item from Deborah has survived – a red and yellow flag, now creased and faded, but still bearing burn-marks which must have been made by metal splinters inside the tank. The flag was carried by tank crews as a signal to tell the infantry ‘All Clear – come on’,⁴² and Frank’s family believe he took it with him so he could identify himself and his men to the British troops when they got close to their own lines.⁴³ As it turned out, the chance encounter with the ‘Jock scout’ had saved the day, and Frank Heap and his companions were escorted back to safety by the men of 51st Division.

Captain Edward Glanville Smith was impressed by Frank’s achievement: ‘He himself and the two other survivors somehow succeeded in fighting their way back to our lines.’⁴⁴ Heap was awarded the Military Cross for gallantry, and the citation summarized what happened after Deborah was destroyed: ‘Although then behind the German lines he collected the remainder of his crew, and conducted them in good order back to our own lines in spite of heavy machine-gun and snipers’ fire.’⁴⁵

It was an epic escape, but it could not disguise the fact that not a single tank had managed to get past the German artillery, and although Deborah had come closest to reaching the objective, Flesquières still remained firmly in the hands of the enemy.

CHAPTER 30

Green Fields Beyond