1
THE ORIGINS OF THE BATTLE
OF LOOS: MAY–AUGUST 1915
The Battle of the Marne in September 1914 cast a long shadow over the events of the following four years. The collapse of Germany’s bold bid for victory in the west, and the failure of France’s efforts to take the war to the enemy in Alsace-Lorraine, left both sides in uncharted territory. With the creation of a trench stalemate stretching from the North Sea to Switzerland, Germany and France were forced to rethink their strategies in the winter of 1914–15. After fevered debates over whether to concentrate her strength against France or Russia, Germany sanctioned increased efforts in the east and the Balkans during 1915. France, meanwhile, was left to face the devastating consequences of the loss of much of her industrial heartland and the presence of the enemy a mere five days’ march from Paris. With inactivity a politically unacceptable strategy, the French Army conducted a series of major offensives on the Western Front throughout 1915, determined to drive the invaders from the soil of France.
Beginning in late December and continuing until the end of March, the First Battle of Champagne raged on the wooded slopes between Rheims and Verdun. The French infantry, floundering heroically against the prepared German positions, desperately tried to open a big enough breach in the enemy lines to win a major strategic victory. But although much blood and ammunition was spent, the German line stubbornly refused to crack. The fighting then flickered further north. Between May and June the Second Battle of Artois was fought, and while the nature of trench warfare was beginning to become depressingly familiar, with its heavy casualties and limited gains of ground, tantalising success was achieved around Souchez and Vimy Ridge. One French corps almost reached the battle-scarred summit, before ammunition supplies dwindled, troops became exhausted and the suffocating cloak of stalemate descended once again upon the opposing positions.
The French High Command, known as Grand Quartier Général (GQG), was not, however, unduly disturbed by the events of the winter and spring. The autumn would see the culmination of France’s offensive efforts in 1915 with huge sequenced attacks in both Artois and Champagne. Aimed at striking the flanks of the German line, which bulged out around Noyon, it was hoped that these attacks would cause the collapse of the entire enemy position and restore the war of movement. This great effort required the application of not only every man and gun in the French Army, but also the assistance of her allies on the Western Front. The Belgian Army, largely locked up in the last remaining free corner of Belgium around the Yser, would be unable to help, but the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), holding a line of ever-increasing length from Ypres to Lens, would prove a valuable ally. Britain’s contribution to the autumn offensive would take the form of the Battle of Loos, a subsidiary operation fought around the northern outskirts of Lens, on the left of the French attack in Artois.
The failure of the Schlieffen Plan had profound consequences for Germany’s strategy during the First World War.1 Haunted by the prospect of a war on two fronts, which it was believed Germany could not win, it had been an article of faith for Count Alfred von Schlieffen and his successors that only by an annihilating victory in the west (Vernichtung) could victory be achieved. With France regarded as the most dangerous of the Reich’s foes, the vast bulk of Germany’s strength would be deployed in an ambitious flanking march through Belgium and northern France. It was calculated that by bringing such overwhelming strength to bear, France’s numerically weaker forces would succumb in six weeks, leaving Germany to deal with Russia’s more ponderous masses at leisure. But events had not conformed to Schlieffen’s grand design. This forced a dramatic revision in Germany’s traditional orientation. The decision in the winter of 1914–15 by the German High Command, in effect, to reverse the tenets of the Schlieffen Plan and attempt to gain victory in the east, had not been taken lightly.2 The breakdown and subsequent retirement of Colonel-General Helmuth von Moltke, Chief of the General Staff, in mid-September 1914 had brought the then War Minister, General Erich von Falkenhayn, to the fore. Falkenhayn was 54 years-old in 1915, a cold, calculating, but thoroughly modern soldier.3 Although he despaired that Germany’s failure to win a short war meant that she was now condemned to lose a long one, Falkenhayn still believed in the primacy of the Western Front. But this position was becoming under increasing criticism, especially from those officers who had experienced a different war in the east. With the spectacular tactical success of the Battle of Tannenburg (26–31 August 1914) already approaching near mythical status, the views of its chief architects, the duo of General Paul von Hindenburg and General Erich Ludendorff, could not be ignored. They believed that Russia was now Germany’s weaker foe and massive pincer movements in the east could retrieve the decisive victory lost on the Marne.4
While the backroom intrigues that surrounded the reorientation of German strategy in this period do not concern us, suffice to say Falkenhayn was extremely reluctant to divert his gaze from the west. Haunted by Napoleon’s doomed campaign against Russia in 1812, Falkenhayn dreaded his armies being sucked into the endless expanses of Poland and Ukraine. As he recorded in his memoirs, ‘Napoleon’s experiences did not invite an imitation of his example.’5 But under pressure Falkenhayn eventually gave in and agreed to renewed offensive operations in the east. The performance of German troops versus the Russians had been cause for celebration, but the weakness of Austria-Hungary had been palpable, with defeats in Galicia and Serbia sharpening the ethnic divisions in her armed forces. German reinforcements were duly dispatched eastwards. Although Falkenhayn tried to temper the grand plans of Hindenburg and Ludendorff, their operations were spectacularly successful. On 2 May 1915 the booming of a four-hour German bombardment signalled the beginning of the Gorlice-Tarnow offensive. What one historian has described as the ‘greatest single campaign of the whole war’,6 Gorlice-Tarnow precipitated the great Russian retreat of the summer. The Russian Army, crippled by unrest at home and shortages of even the most basic war materiel, could offer only spasmodic resistance. By the end of the summer, the Central Powers had advanced over 300 miles and inflicted around two million casualties on their enemy. This success then filtered down to the Balkans. On 7 October, assault troops crossed the Danube and forced the Serbs south through Montenegro and Albania. Bulgaria joined the Central Powers the same month, helping to complete the conquest of Serbia.
1915 was a year of repeated German success, but it was a bleak year for the Allies, and not only on the Western Front. Although buoyed by Italy’s declaration of war against Austria on 23 May, it soon became clear that she would not be able to achieve decisive results. The following month she began the first of eleven bloody, but inconclusive, battles of the Isonzo. Stalemate had also spread to the Mediterranean. While the oceans had long been swept of German raiders, and command of the sea was firmly back in the hands of the British Admiralty, there were some who wanted the Royal Navy to be doing more. Winston Churchill, the energetic First Lord of the Admiralty, was one of them. By the close of 1914 he had become the leading proponent of an ambitious scheme to clear the Dardanelles Straits. Strategically daring, even reckless, it imagined a swift, surgical naval strike that would clear the way to Constantinople and defeat Turkey, Germany’s main ally in the region. If a way through to the Black Sea could be made, Russia could be supplied and her surplus stores of grain exported to the west. But, as has been recounted numerous times, the Gallipoli expedition, far from being a decisive operation using ‘spare’ British naval strength, became an open, running sore that devoured ships and precious infantry divisions throughout the year. The belated Anglo-French landing at Salonika, and its swift bottling-up, only served to underline Allied powerlessness.
Debate in Germany over how the war should be won was confined to a small clique of high-ranking officers and statesmen, but the more unstable political situation in France made such a closed debate unlikely. The French Parliament, after being evacuated to Bordeaux in early September 1914, returned to Paris on 20 December, beginning ordinary sessions of parliament the following month.7 With this return to something approaching normality, French political life regained much of its zest and character. Criticism of the war effort, especially the role of the Commander-in-Chief, which had been silenced after the Union Sacrée of August 1914, gradually resurfaced as 1915 wore on. The lack of any real progress in the war, despite heavy fighting – and the catastrophic French casualties – unsettled the country and made the increasing rumours of mismanagement and incompetence, which emanated from the various sections of the war effort, intolerable. Although bitterly resented by the army, a number of parliamentary commissions were set up in 1915 and began to investigate the alleged errors and mistakes that had been made.
As it was difficult to criticise the Commander-in-Chief – most of the French newspapers were solidly pro-army – much of the discontent was directed at the Minister of War, the 56 year-old Socialist, Alexandre Millerand.8 Widely admired as a calm and determined patriot, Millerand had great political experience. During his time as War Minister in 1912–13 he had worked tirelessly to prepare the nation and her army for a war that he regarded as inevitable. Millerand believed that his primary task was to let the generals get on with the war and keep political interference to a minimum. Others, however, did not share these views. As 1915 continued, criticism of Millerand, and pressure on him to yield some of his power, gradually increased. At a meeting of the Cabinet on 27 May, Raymond Poincaré, the President of the Republic, accused Millerand of not only giving GQG too much leeway, but also ‘of ceaselessly abdicating the rights of civilian power’.9 That Millerand was too authoritarian, independent and unaccountable was also the opinion of the powerful Senate Army Commission, and with the lack of any tangible Allied victory, Millerand’s time was running out.
The Second Battle of Artois ground to a bloody halt in June; the French Tenth Army suffering over 4,000 casualties for every square kilometre it had advanced.10 Despite its failure and the unsettled political situation at home, the French Commander-in-Chief, General Joseph Jacques Cesaire Joffre, was determined that a renewed offensive in July could prove decisive. Joffre was a big man. Physically intimidating, ‘the Victor of the Marne’ was a stubborn, phlegmatic engineer, direct and intolerant, yet surprisingly calm. After making his reputation in Africa and the Far East he rose rapidly. Untouched by any trace of scandal that had so damaged the pre-war army, he became Chief of the General Staff in 1911. By the outbreak of war Joffre s imprint was firmly upon the French Army. While purging his command of officers that he did not regard as having sufficient ‘offensive spirit’, Joffre had adopted Plan XVII, a series of mobilisation orders to be followed once war broke out.11
Why did Joffre believe that a new offensive could succeed where previous ones had failed? An analysis of French strategy in this period lies beyond the scope of this study, but it is necessary to understand the principles upon which it was based. Unlike Falkenhayn, Joffre did not have the luxury of deciding where his army would fight. As Correlli Barnett has observed, the German occupation of Belgium and northern France in 1914 presented the Allies with an ‘inescapable political compulsion’ to drive the invaders out.12 Joffre recorded in his memoirs how:
The best and largest portion of the German army was on our soil, with its line of battle jutting out a mere five days’ march from the heart of France. The situation made it clear to every Frenchman that our task consisted in defeating this enemy, and driving him out of our country.13
This had been the rationale behind the heavy fighting of the winter and the larger efforts in the spring. It would again be the chief motivation for the autumn offensive. Joffre was impatient to achieve decision on the battlefield. He was aware that Frances waxing strength would reach its numerical and material peak in the autumn of 1915. If the enemy forces at present occupying northern France could not be defeated, how would the French Army be able to outfight the ten or fifteen corps that Germany could (conceivably) bring from the east in the event of a Russian collapse?
Criticism of this aggressive strategy was not long in arriving. As in Britain, there were serious misgivings in France about letting her soldiers – in Churchill’s stinging phrase – ‘chew barbed wire’ in the west. An increasing number of politicians would have preferred to defer attacking the German lines, at least until Britain’s New Armies were ready and fully equipped. On 6 August 1915, Poincaré stated in Parliament that he did not look forward to a new offensive in France and believed that the best policy to pursue was ‘active defence’. Joffre was disgusted by such an attitude. He once remarked how ‘he had certainly never dreamt of such a thing’, and that because it was ‘a form of war which was entirely negative… he was therefore wholly opposed to it’.14 It was also ‘unfair’ to France’s allies, especially Russia, then being pummelled into defeat. According to Joffre, it was ‘morally impossible not to pay heed to the appeals of our unfortunate allies’.15 Joffre was also buttressed by the sheer size of his planned operations. By early June he had sketched out plans for a much larger offensive to take place sometime in July. Instead of singular attacks either in Artois or Champagne, a concept of‘sequenced concentric attacks’ was developed.16 Joffre’s plan was a simple extension of his thoughts behind the earlier attempts to break the enemy line in the winter and spring. The flanks of the great German salient between Arras and Rheims were to be struck. A preparatory attack would initially draw off enemy reserves, before the main attack broke through the German lines, causing the collapse of the entire enemy position. Joffre believed that once this had been achieved, a war of movement would resume and Germany’s armies could be defeated in detail. As was communicated to the British, it was hoped that ‘an attack by upwards of 40 divisions on a front extending from the present left of the Tenth Army to a point some 10 kilometres South of Arras [and] an attack by some 10 divisions in Champagne’ could be arranged.17
Would this attack achieve its ambitious objectives? Considering both the strength of the German defensive positions and the weaknesses afflicting the French Army, historians have not been slow to criticise Joffre’s aggressive strategy.18 Indeed, although Millerand’s tenure as War Minister oversaw vast improvements in the production of war materiel, it could not compensate for a number of serious faults at all levels within the French Army.19 Confronted by humiliating defeat in 1870, political disarray and demoralisation over the Dreyfus Affair, and a whole series of funding crises and doctrinal confusions, by the turn of the century the French Army was suffering from a crisis of confidence. Fortified by a unifying belief in the importance of‘offensive spirit’ and ‘moral force’, however, a considerable revival had occurred by 1914. Although the extent of its pre-war ‘cult of the offensive’ has perhaps been overstated, there is little doubt that a belief in the power of the tactical attack, even into the teeth of unsuppressed enemy rifle and machine gun fire, was an important pillar of French military thought before the war.20 The Commandant of the École Supérieure de la Guerre, Colonel Ferdinand Foch (later to command Groupe d’Armées du Nord during 1915) was one of the most forceful proponents of the need to inculcate troops with sufficient ‘offensive spirit’. Although Foch and his fellow thinkers – notably the influential ‘High Priest’ of the offensive, Colonel Louis Loizeau de Grandmaison – recognised the strength of modern firepower, they believed that the most important factor in warfare was morale and having an unshakeable will to victory. If troops were imbued with such élan, which echoed an earlier, Napoleonic concept of war, it was believed that they could cross the fire-swept zone between opposing armies and take the fight to the enemy with the ‘cold steel’. Such an emphasis on the power of the offensive and morale in warfare proved resistant to change. Joffre s communiqué to his generals on the eve of the autumn offensive remained consistent with this pre-war thought. While admitting that heavy artillery was the ‘principal weapon of attack’, he explained that the ‘dash and devotion of the troops are the principle factors which make for the success of the attack’.21
The problem with such ‘offensive spirit’ was the power of modern weaponry. The great, almost exponential, increase in firepower that had occurred in the second half of the nineteenth century made closely packed infantry formations and bayonet charges extremely hazardous, even verging on the suicidal. Steady troops in entrenched positions, using breech-loading rifles, machine guns, and backed up by quick-firing artillery, were almost impossible to dislodge, without at least crippling casualties amongst the attacking troops. Indeed, the changed nature of warfare had been brutally unmasked as the French pushed into the ‘lost provinces’ of Alsace and Lorraine in the opening weeks of the war. ‘Offensive spirit’ had proved a poor substitute for adequate training, tactical skill and material superiority. A recent account records how the French Army was riddled with:
Incompetent, often elderly commanders, regimental officers too few in number for effective command and with inadequate maps, combat intelligence unreliable or incorrectly evaluated, cavalry steeped in a doctrine of sabre charges rather than reconnaissance, and infantry of reckless bravery but low tactical competence.22
Little wonder casualties were so heavy, reaching 200,000 by the end of August alone.23 The French were also seriously outgunned. Their famed 75mm quick-firing field gun was ill-suited to a war of position – the weight of shell it fired was too small to demolish fortifications or blow up enemy guns – and Germany had nearly double the number of field guns with ‘an almost total monopoly in heavy artillery’.24
The weaknesses of the French Army meant that it was simply unable to fulfil the role Joffre allocated to it. The repeated efforts throughout the year to appeal against the verdict of stalemate only served to weaken France further. While the French Army suffered over 1,430,000 casualties during 1915 and never again showed the same elan and willingness to sacrifice, the political divides in French society were put under increasing strain as the war dragged on.25 It was becoming increasingly clear that France could not win the war single-handedly. But what of France’s leading allies on the Western Front, the British?
The strategic dilemma faced by Britain during 1915, especially the debate between ‘westerners’ and ‘easterners’, has been discussed at length.26 By the close of 1914 serious and long-term decisions had to be made about Britain’s war effort. It was becoming increasingly clear that ‘business as usual’, the rather loose ethic that Britain had adopted since the outbreak of war, was not going to bring about victory. But what strategy would replace this was not immediately obvious. Would all of Britain’s strength be deployed in France in support of General Joffre, or could she still operate a historically independent strategy outside the confines of the Western Front? Because a General Staff had only been created in 1904, Britain was ill equipped with either the personnel or the administrative machinery for an informed choice to be made. The lack of detailed and precise information had the unfortunate result in a profusion of amateur strategy, personified by the meddling figure of Winston Churchill. British strategy was, therefore, often made as a response to current events and vague theories, rather than to a sober appreciation of the strength of the nation and where best this could be brought to bear.
Matters were complicated by the collapse of Prime Minister Herbert Asquith’s embattled Liberal Government in May. The formation of the Coalition on 26 May 1915, following the dual blows of the ‘Shells Scandal’ and the resignation of the First Sea Lord, Admiral Lord Fisher, reflected a growing public uneasiness over the direction of the war. The new government, still led by Asquith, may have promised a firmer, more committed prosecution of the war, but as A.J.P. Taylor acidly commented, only‘appearances were changed’.27 The new coalition was ‘from the outset a suspicious and divided body’.28 The meetings of the War Cabinet (now called the Dardanelles Committee) were more regular than they had previously been and contained more members than ever, but the decentralisation of power hampered firm decision-making. Different opinions prevailed on every matter; every matter took hours to decide. Maurice Hankey, the amiable Secretary of the Dardanelles Committee, complained that although, individually, ‘a more capable set of men could not have been got together,’ they were collectively ‘never a good team’.29
Perhaps the most outstanding member of the Cabinet was the Secretary of State for War, Field-Marshal Earl Kitchener of Khartoum.30 Kitchener was Britain’s most experienced serving soldier. An imposing, gruff, taciturn man, Kitchener had a solid bank of combat experience, organisational expertise and administrative success behind him. From the opening days of the war Kitchener believed it would last at least three years – rank heresy to the popular ‘over by Christmas’ view – and necessitate the raising of substantial reinforcements to bolster the regular army.31 Despite desiring to spend the war in Egypt, Kitchener accepted the position of Secretary of State for War on 5 August. Until his death at sea off Scapa Flow in June 1916, Kitchener worked tirelessly in the War Office, organising and administering Britain’s growing role in the war. Yet this was not without difficulty. His method of work was notoriously authoritarian and ‘oriental’. He tended to shoulder too heavy a burden, being chronically unable to delegate simpler tasks to his aides. And although he oversaw the rapid, and admittedly chaotic, expansion of the British Army and provided a vast increase in guns and shells throughout 1914–15, this was not enough to supply both the BEF and the New Armies.32
Kitchener’s strategic view of the war was always global and long-term. He wanted French and Russian forces to bear the brunt of the war in the first two years of the conflict, while Britain’s New Armies were readied and equipped. Sometime in 1916–17 – in theory – Kitcheners forces would be ready to strike the coup de grace, thus winning the war and dominating the peace. As early as 2 January 1915, Kitchener had expressed severe doubts as to the feasibility of breaking the German lines in the west.
I suppose we must now recognise that the French Army cannot make a sufficient break through the German lines of defence to cause a complete change of the situation and bring about the retreat of German forces from northern Belgium. If that is so, then the German lines in France may be looked upon as a fortress that cannot be carried by assault and also cannot be completely invested.33
His views had changed little by the summer. In a paper called ‘An Appreciation of the Military Situation in the Future’ (dated 26 June), Kitchener recognised that the war would probably last into 1916. Until then, the only area where the Allies could secure an important success was in the Dardanelles. Kitchener was therefore of the opinion that the Allies should adopt a policy of ‘active defence’ in France. He was adamant that ‘French resources in men must not be exhausted by continuous offensive operations which lead to nothing, and which possibly cause the enemy fewer casualties than those incurred by us.’34 But this caused friction. Although most of Britain’s senior politicians agreed with Kitchener (including Asquith, Churchill and Lloyd George), he was forced to balance this evident preference for operations against Turkey with continual pressure from not only the French, but also from the senior officers of the BEF, who urgently requested more drafts and equipment.
Nevertheless, from March 1915, when Britain began the operations to clear the Dardanelles Straits, events on the Western Front assumed a secondary importance. Frustrated at the uneasy stalemate persisting in France, Kitchener, supported by his Cabinet colleagues, gave priority to the attempts to knock out Turkey. The failures in Artois and the BEF’s shambolic performance at Aubers Ridge in May only served to underline the impossibility of progress in the west in the near future.35 The first meeting of the Dardanelles Committee took place on 7 June.36 It was eventually agreed that a further effort should be made in the Dardanelles. General Sir Ian Hamilton, Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force (MEF), was to be reinforced with three New Army divisions. It would allow him, given the time taken to ship the reinforcements into position, to make another big attack sometime early in August.
But what would Britain’s allies make of this? Relations between Britain and France since August 1914 had undoubtedly been close, but they were strained by mutual incomprehension and the frictions of war. Not only were the British and French bitterly split between themselves, but they also had differing wider agendas. The French were not intrinsically opposed to the Dardanelles expedition, but were never terribly enthusiastic and continually pressed for every ounce of British strength to be deployed on the Western Front. But the British shied away from such a drastic step, preferring to retain some strategic independence. The Allies were also separated by a considerable linguistic barrier; few British could speak good French and many senior French officials refused to speak English.37 These differences of opinion and temperament were clearly illustrated at the first Anglo-French conference of the war, held at Calais on 6 July 1915. Asquith’s later remark that he had ‘never heard so much bad French… in his life’ highlighted the difficulties of inter-allied co-operation during 1915. 38
The Calais Conference was one of the most important British strategic milestones of the war. Unfortunately, because no minutes were taken, what was discussed has been the subject of some confusion. It has been generally accepted that with his fluent French Lord Kitchener dominated the proceedings. In line with a Cabinet paper of 2 July, Kitchener made it clear that while the British Government was keen to sanction a renewed summer offensive in the Dardanelles, it would look gravely upon a new attack on the Western Front, preferring instead a policy of ‘active defence’.39 Although some evidence conflicts with the generally accepted version of events – notably the diary of Sir John French40 – most British accounts agree with Asquith, who believed that ‘the man who came out best, not only linguistically, but altogether, out of the thing was K[itchener]’.41 In his journal Viscount Esher, the Liberal politician, recorded how Lord Kitchener ‘delivered a most excellent oration at the meeting; so excellent that the French have wavered and are wavering’.42 Similarly, although not present at the meeting, Hankey believed Kitchener ‘was splendid and dominated the whole show’. According to him, after three hours of discussion, eight points were agreed upon.
1To continue the war of attrition.
2No great offensive on a scale which, if unsuccessful, would paralyse us for further offensives later on.
3Local offensives on a considerable scale.
4Very heavy entrenchments everywhere.
5The British to hold a longer front.
6The new armies to be sent when ready, though the Government to keep their hands free in this respect.
7The Dardanelles operation to continue.
8Diplomatic efforts to be concentrated on Romania rather than Bulgaria.43
Although most of the French Ministers had apparently been persuaded by Kitchener’s performance, Joffre’s plans for another large-scale offensive had evidently not been derailed. While most of the British delegation went away well pleased, believing that future offensives in France had been shelved, this was rejected, or at least subtly ignored, at an International Military Conference that took place at Chantilly the following day.
The International Military Conference took place at Chantilly on 7 July. Apart from Sir John French most of the British delegation was not present. Joffre dominated the meeting, saying that the war could only be decided in the large theatres and it was in the interests of the Allies that they should ‘prepare to launch a powerful offensive at the earliest possible moment’.44 Curiously, French agreed with Joffre’s sentiments – they had been discussed on 24 June45 – adding that he ‘quite agreed with General Joffre’ and would ‘assist as far he can any attack of [the] French army’.46 This startling divergence has attracted considerable attention. Why did Joffre continue to work towards a new offensive and why did Sir John ignore the expressed opinion of his government? One of Kitchener’s biographers, Philip Magnus, has suggested that the crucial event was an unofficial interview between the Secretary of State and Joffre before the Calais Conference opened. It is virtually certain that such a meeting occurred; it appears in several reliable accounts, but there is little precise information on what was discussed.47 According to Magnus, this meeting resulted in a ‘private agreement’ whereby, in order to gain Joffre’s blessing for a renewed effort in the Dardanelles, Kitchener agreed to support his offensive in France if Hamilton failed to clear a way to Constantinople.48
Kitchener and Joffre never mentioned the existence of such a pact, and it has been disputed. According to George Cassar, although a pact was not reached, a compromise was. While the BEF would be heavily reinforced, it would be spared participation in a major offensive. After an interview with Henry Wilson (Chief Liaison Officer to GQG) in late June, Kitchener had asked him whether the French would agree to support a new effort at Gallipoli. Wilson had replied that they would do so only if a large number of New Army divisions were in France by the winter.49 On this basis, therefore, Kitchener promised to send his New Armies to France, beginning with six divisions in July, to be succeeded by six more every month. If Joffre still believed that his attack must take place, it must be undertaken by the French alone.50 This view has generally been accepted but it remains problematic.51 It seems that the answer to why Calais and Chantilly were so different lies in the nature and purpose of both conferences. While Calais was the first Anglo-French conference of the war, Chantilly was merely a meeting of staffs; what David French has called ‘little more than an expression of mutual goodwill’.52 It seems that although he was firmly opposed to any new offensive on the Western Front, Kitchener agreed to let the staff discussions at Chantilly go ahead.53 After all, what harm was there in planning?
Contrary to what most historians have found, what exactly would happen in the late summer of 1915 was never explicitly decided upon. And although the New Armies would be sent to France, this was not a ‘blank cheque’, and marked only a halfway stage in a total British commitment to the Western Front. Indeed, a striking feature that emerges from the records of two conferences is the vagueness of the proceedings. British and French Governments took what they wanted from the discussions. As Maurice Hankey found out several days later, the understandings arrived at were being ‘interpreted differently in Paris to what they were in London’.54 Sir William Robertson (CGS GHQ) even informed the King’s Private Secretary, Clive Wigram, that ‘nothing very definite may be settled or can be settled between the Allies at these meetings’, but they did give a good opportunity ‘for comparing notes’.55 Similarly, at Chantilly Millerand had concluded that the conference ‘only confirms the ideas of the various commanders in chief and in no way modifies plans’.56 Allied strategy would wait upon the march of events.
The BEF may have been Britain’s most well-organised, equipped and trained army to ever set foot on foreign shores, but by the time the First Battle of Ypres had died down in November 1914, it was a pale shadow of its former glory. Largely gone were its hardened veterans; the victims of the murderous conditions of modern warfare. They had been replaced by a mixture of territorials, reservists, ‘dugouts’, the Indian Corps and individual volunteers, hurriedly trained and rushed to the front. As might have been expected, the BEF struggled to adapt to a war of unprecedented destruction. The battles it undertook in 1914–15 consumed men and munitions on a scale unimaginable before the war. A shortage of ammunition, particularly artillery shells, was the most noticeable deficit, but an array of equipment, such as shovels, sandbags and grenades, was also required for the new science of trench warfare. These shortages were not helped by the haphazard expansion of the BEF. It had gone to war in August 1914 consisting of two corps, but had grown into six corps, divided into two armies, barely five months later. During 1915 the BEF again trebled in size.57
Yet the war still had to be won. German forces were camped across most of Belgium and large expanses of northern France, and with major operations underway in the east, were going nowhere. The French were initially unimpressed by the offensive capability of the BEF, and preferred to use the British to hold stretches of the front. But they were forced to rethink this during 1915. The BEF began the first of its attempts to break through the German lines alone in March 1915 at Neuve Chapelle. The rest of its engagements (until 1917) were all conducted as part of bigger Anglo-French operations.58 During 1915 General Sir Douglas Haig’s First Army, which held the southern sector of the BEF, conducted these attacks. All were unsuccessful in that they did not break cleanly through the German lines and reach the designated objectives. An initial break-in was achieved at Neuve Chapelle (10–12 March), but German reserves skilfully stopped any further progress. Aubers Ridge (9 May) was a disaster with the infantry attack being halted on strengthened German defences, although the limited success at Festubert (15–27 May) did augur well for the future. By the end of 1915 the BEF had suffered nearly 380,000 casualties.
Nothing had prepared Field-Marshal Sir John Denton Pinkstone French, the Commander-in-Chief of the BEF, for the devastating effects of prolonged contact with the Imperial German Army.59 A soldier of immense experience and proven courage, French was widely seen as one of the greatest cavalry commanders in British history. He had been one of the few British soldiers to emerge from the South African War (1899–1902) with his reputation enhanced. His daring leadership of the Cavalry Division, especially his epic ride at Klip Drift and the subsequent relief of Kimberley, had been one of the most famous actions of the war. His post-war service was equally impressive. Between 1902 and 1907 he was GOC Aldershot, and following that he became Inspector-General of the Forces. Although he was forced to resign his appointment as Chief of the General Staff in 1914 over the Curragh incident,60 he was ideally placed to take charge of the BEF when war broke out.
Sir John was not alone in finding the strain of war difficult to cope with. By the spring of 1915 he was 62-years old and in failing health. The limitations in his character and personality were magnified by the stress of war. French was fiery, emotional and temperamental, hardly ideal qualities for a complex war in which the ability to deal with the higher demands of politics and strategy, and to co-ordinate operations alongside Britain’s allies, was of far greater importance than personal bravery or ‘dash’. His intellectual qualities were also in doubt. Although Sir John had gained a reputation after the South African War for being one of the most modern and forward-looking cavalry thinkers in the British Army, his views remained traditional. He had always been a believer in the continued relevance of traditional shock tactics for the arme blanche. He had never attended the Staff College, disliked intellectual pursuits and did not look upon ‘book-learning’ with much sympathy. French found it particularly taxing having to deal with both his political masters in London and with his allies in France. As Richard Holmes has written, ‘Sir John was chronically unsure of his position’.61 He disliked Lord Kitchener intensely, waged an on-off feud with General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien (GOC II Corps 1914 and GOC Second Army 1915), which ended with the latter’s dismissal in May 1915, and helped to engineer the ‘Shells Scandal’ that was a contributing factor in the collapse of Asquiths Liberal Government. Sir John’s relations with officers of the French Army were equally unstable. After he had discovered that Kitchener had consulted Joffre over whether to replace him in November 1914, Sir John felt understandably eager to cultivate French support. This resulted in considerable tension when Sir John was pressed to conduct operations that he thought either dangerous or unsuitable. French’s relations with the fire-eating General Ferdinand Foch (Commander Groupe d’Armées du Nord) were little better. Foch possessed a considerable influence over Sir John, often moving him from dire premonitions of disaster to wild flights of optimism.
The staff that surrounded Sir John at GHQ (based at St Omer) did their best to temper the excesses of his character, but with mixed results. French’s CGS, the blunt, straight-talking Lieutenant-General Sir William Robertson, was a soldier of rare skill and competence. His excellent performance as QMG of the BEF during 1914 has been recognised by almost all authorities.62 Although he would waver during the dark days of 1917, Robertson was always an advocate of the war on the Western Front, believing that only by ‘the defeat or exhaustion of the predominant partner in the Central Alliance’, namely Germany, could victory be achieved.63 He was suspicious of the strategic ideas of ‘easterners’ and always regarded the Western Front as the decisive theatre. But Robertson was no blind supporter of Joffre’s offensives and would have preferred more modest, ‘wearing out’ attacks on favourable parts of the German line, at least until Britain’s New Armies were fully ready to take to the field.
While Robertson was a staff officer of the first rank, who did much for the smooth running of GHQ, his relationship with Sir John was never warm, and his influence was accordingly limited. Indeed, GHQ may have contained several officers of outstanding competence – such as Brigadier-General F.B. Maurice (BGGS Operations) and Brigadier-General G.M.W. Macdonogh (BGGS Intelligence) – but its ‘diverse and often contentious mix of personalities and ideas’ meant that there were a number of mutual feuds and jealousies.64 The poisonous influence of Major-General Henry Wilson (Chief Liaison Officer to GQG) over Sir John was a continual problem. Although he had been manoeuvred out of his rather vague position of ‘sub-chief’ of the General Staff in January 1915, Wilson still possessed an intellectual dominance at GHQ. He occupied a unique position in the history of the BEF, having taken a leading role in staff discussions over the possible deployment of a British force on the left of the French Army in the event of war.65 An ardent Francophile, Wilson was widely distrusted by his own army and his murky role in the Curragh ‘Mutiny’ of March 1914 only added to his reputation as a disloyal intriguer. Robertson voiced a widely felt concern when he accused Wilson ‘of leaning too much to the side of the French and not sufficiently to the side of the army to which he belongs’.66 Vain yet ugly, awkward but confident,Wilson always remained something of an outsider within his own army.
French’s command was dictated by the brief set of instructions he had been issued with by Kitchener before embarking for France in August 1914.67 They enshrined a paradox that Sir John would feel between supporting the French and protecting the interests of the BEF. He was assured that the ‘special motive’ of the BEF was to ‘support and co-operate with the French Army against our common enemies’. Kitchener, naturally cautious and hardly thrilled at the prospect of major continental engagements, warned Sir John that because the size of his army was strictly limited, he was to look gravely upon risking his troops in forward movements, especially when large French forces were not involved. It was evident that Sir John would have to tread a thin line. While making every effort to coincide with plans of their allies, Kitchener stressed that Sir John’s command was ‘an entirely independent one’ and that under no circumstances would he come under the orders of an Allied general.
Kitchener’s orders had been vague enough in August 1914, but in the changed circumstances of spring 1915 they were beginning to look badly dated. What were Sir John’s thoughts on the situation? His views were mixed. While favouring an independent northern flank operation (the ‘Zeebrugge Plan’) to free the Channel Coast from German occupation, this was vetoed by the War Cabinet in January 1915.68 Aware that he had only kept his position because of Joffre’s support, Sir John was left with little option but to support the former’s plans for large-scale offensive operations in France. And while his moods sometimes bordered on depression, French did believe that a breakthrough in the west was possible. He had disagreed with the views expressed in Kitchener’s letter of 2 January, believing that with good weather and ample stocks of ammunition, it was possible to pierce the German lines.69 Indeed, the initial success at Neuve Chapelle had lent weight to this idea. Although French was desirous to prevent operations in the eastern Mediterranean from eclipsing his command, he was not blind to the strategic opportunities in the Dardanelles.70 But he did resent the continual diversion of troops, ammunition and other resources from France.
The immediate origins of the Battle of Loos can be traced back to a series of unofficial meetings between Major Sidney Clive (Head of the British Mission at GQG) and various French liaison officers on 3 and 4 June 1915.71 When the possibility of further offensive operations was floated by Joffre, Sir John’s reaction was consistent with his earlier opinions. Although he disagreed with certain requests for the relief of French troops and the evacuation of the Ypres Salient, because the French Army was now reaching its probable maximum, Sir John believed the Allies should strike as soon as possible, adding that a decisive success in recent operations had only been thwarted by of a shortage of ammunition and reserve troops. He utterly rejected a strategy of passive defence. As he told Lord Kitchener, ‘such a course can only have a disastrous effect upon the moral and offensive spirit of our troops’.72
Although the Calais Conference had tentatively agreed that no large-scale offensives would take place on the Western Front in the foreseeable future, French met General Foch on 19 June and they mulled over Joffre’s offensive, then scheduled for 10 July.73 Foch wanted the British to aid the attack by taking over twenty-two miles of front south of Arras (to be held by Third Army, then forming in England) and by attacking alongside the French Tenth Army, which held the front from Lens to Arras. Sir John was initially enthusiastic and authorised the reliefs. He told General Foch that ‘I entirely agree with the French Commanders as to the necessity of attacking on the broadest front’, and promised to launch ‘the most powerful attack I could between south of the Béthune canal’ and the left of the French Tenth Army. Following his interview with Foch, French wrote to the commander of First Army and asked for a detailed report to be drafted on the feasibility of the proposed operation.
The report that General Sir Douglas Haig submitted to GHQ on 23 June was a model of clarity and sound military reasoning.74 Later events would prove it mostly correct in its appreciation of the difficulties of the proposed ground. After riding around the lines, trying to find suitable viewing points, and then consulting some of his divisional commanders, Haig’s thoughts gradually coalesced. The ground, littered with miners’ houses and slag heaps, was ‘Very difficult’.75 Although it might have been ‘possible to capture the enemy’s first line of trenches… it would not be possible to advance beyond because our own artillery could not support us’. According to Haig ‘the enemy’s defences are now so strong that they [have to] be taken [sic] by siege methods – by using bombs and by hand to hand fighting in the trenches!’ Yet trench fighting was the only feasible way to advance, the ground above being ‘so swept by gun and machine gun and rifle fire that an advance in the open except by night is impossible’.76 Not only were the enemy’s defences ‘very carefully sited’, but also the whole area from Violaines to Lens was dominated by their artillery.77 Although extra forming up and supporting trenches could be constructed, because of the white, chalky soil, they would be virtually impossible to conceal from enemy observation. And even if the German front line positions were taken and the advance pressed eastwards, it would not be easy to support the forward troops.
Haig’s report introduced a frosty breath of realism into the planning process and was to have a considerable impact upon how the proposed offensive was seen at GHQ. When combined with the findings of the Allied Munitions Conference, held at Boulogne on 19 June, Sir John’s clear horizon began to fill with clouds. The conference concluded that for an offensive on the Western Front to have ‘a reasonable chance of success’, it would have to be delivered on a front of twenty-five miles by over thirty divisions and supported by 1,150 heavy guns.78 Not until the spring of 1916 could such a mass of offensive power be gathered. Previously, Sir John had been very keen to support Joffre in his offensive, but the combined effects of Haig’s report and Boulogne produced a crisis of confidence at GHQ. It marked an important turning point in the planning of the Loos offensive.
The situation that faced Sir John French in late June 1915 was a difficult one. While given a little breathing space – the first of several postponements to the date of the attack had been sanctioned by Joffre (which was now pencilled in for the end of August) – French was beginning to have doubts. Although he remained robustly optimistic, believing that Haig had exaggerated the difficulties of the ground, he concluded, rather gloomily, that he would now have to consider ‘the whole subject very carefully’.79 He still believed in the strategic necessity of Joffre’s large-scale offensive, but henceforth displayed a growing reluctance to attack in the suggested location. Strategic optimism was thus combined with tactical pessimism. So concerned did Sir John eventually become that he proposed to drastically curtail British involvement. As might have been expected, the French were resolved to resist this at all costs.
Joffre’s plans had also changed. It was gradually becoming clear to Sir John, despite Joffre’s best efforts to disguise the fact, that the main effort was now going to be made, not in Artois, but in far-away Champagne.80 French was now effectively being asked to mount a subsidiary operation (on very unfavourable terrain) to another subsidiary operation, rather than being part of a major offensive. This rankled with Sir John. He began to complain frequently of French duplicity.81 His attitude hardened. When Joffre told him on 11 July that ‘we must all take the offensive’, Sir John curtly replied that ‘he always supported Joffre but Joffre appeared to have changed his plans’.82 He was correct, there had been major disagreements in the French camp. Even Foch, one of the ‘High Priests’ of the offensive before the war, had now come to the conclusion that a major breakthrough operation in Champagne was no longer feasible.83 French tried to ease himself from Joffre’s grip by offering to take over more line around Ypres, but this was refused.
The ground was the problem. In desperation Sir John decided that he must see it for himself. When he visited the hill of Notre Dame de Lorette, which overlooked the mining area north of Lens, he was not too disheartened.84 But any remaining optimism Sir John still had now rapidly began to drain away. Foch had written to Wilson on 15 July asking for the British attack to be delivered by ten divisions and a maximum number of guns and ammunition.85 This was greeted with little enthusiasm. Sir John asked Clive on 20 July to ‘remind Joffre of the difficult nature of the country occupied by the Germans in front of the First Army’ and that he could only make a strong holding attack.86 By 22 July French was ‘doubtful’ about the proposed operation. ‘To have any prospect of success’, he grumbled,‘such an attack would have to be supported by an almost unlimited expenditure of artillery ammunition.’87 But, as French well knew, nothing remotely approaching this was available.
While Wilson raved at the pessimism now reigning at GHQ – Clive found him ‘much depressed’88 – Robertson wrote to Haig and asked whether his views on the proposed ground had changed.89 The commander of First Army replied that they had not.90 For Haig, the resources at his disposal simply did not:
permit of an offensive being undertaken on a large scale, such as might lead at once to freedom of manoeuvre, and it is therefore necessary, whilst being prepared for any eventuality in case of success, to limit the offensive to a definite operation within the scope of the forces.
While the area north of Lens was unsuitable, Haig did believe that a ‘Very definite advantage’ would be gained if his forces could push forward and occupy the crest of Aubers Ridge, the distant goal First Army had been vainly trying to reach all spring. French agreed, confiding in his diary that the ground offered ‘the least tactical advantages’.91 He also suggested that the Messines-Wytschaete Ridge could be attacked instead.
Sir John’s misgivings were shared by most of the senior officers of the BEF, with the usual exception of Wilson.92 According to Clive ‘everyone who knows the ground has made up his mind that… it is impossible to make progress’.93 This found no sympathy with the French. At Frévent on 27 July Foch was insistent that the British fight on the left of Tenth Army in order to magnify the effect of both attacks.94 Sir John’s remarks about the difficulty of the ground did find some grudging agreement, but Foch could offer little succour. His fatalistic comment that ‘the enemy’s lines are strong everywhere, and therefore an attack on some other part of the line would perhaps not be much easier and would certainly give greatly inferior results’ was hardly reassuring. The meeting ended with no clear resolution in sight, only French promising to ‘consider’ Foch’s points.
Sir John took two days to ‘consider’ the results of Frévent. By now he was deeply upset at the details of the proposed offensive and became more so with every passing day. He was evidently still unable to reconcile the dilemma enshrined in Kitchener’s instructions of August 1914. The twin aims of supporting the French and of not endangering the BEF now seemed mutually exclusive. Indeed, they were beginning to tear Sir John’s command apart. His haphazard relationship with Foch and his dependence on Joffre only complicated matters. French replied on 29 July. After reassuring Joffre of his loyalty and support, Sir John confirmed that his opinions had not changed.95 Any attack south of the La Bassée canal, he explained, ‘as would culminate in the seizure and possession of the hills which command LENS is very improbable’. Even if the enemy’s front line trenches were successfully captured, the assault troops would ‘find themselves held up by a mass of fortified houses, buildings, slack heaps [sic] extending over many square miles of country’. Sir John was understandably averse to sending his men into this morass.
If Sir John had expected any concessions from Joffre he was to be disappointed. Joffre replied on 5 August.96 He was unmoved by French’s concerns, commenting that ‘it seems to me that no more favourable ground than that which extends north of Angres to the canal de La Bassée can be found’. If an attack were pressed, in conjunction with Tenth Army, a gigantic pincer movement would be conducted around the enemy’s fortified positions in Lens and Lievin. Joffre, either in complete ignorance of the tactical difficulties of the ground or believing that only there could the BEF give practical help to his operations, concluded that ‘I cannot suggest a better direction of attack than the line Loos–Hulluch’. As might have been expected, Sir John read Joffre’s letter with dismay, taking five days to reply. He repeated that his opinions had not changed. While still believing that attacks north of the La Bassée canal would offer more valuable results, he did add that he would direct his forces ‘in accordance with the wishes which you, as Generalissimo expressed’.97 Yet Sir John had not completely acquiesced. In the last paragraph he explained how:
I am reinforcing my First Army, which I have directed to assist the attack of your Tenth Army by neutralizing the enemy’s artillery and by holding the infantry on its front.98
This was French’s ‘artillery plan’, the logical synthesis of his dilemma between supporting the French and not hazarding his army. It would allow him to take part in Joffre’s offensive, but not risk an infantry battle over such difficult ground. First Army’s guns would simply endeavour to knock out enemy batteries around Lens in support of the French attacks further south.
It is clear that in 1915 British artillery did not have the technical skill, the ammunition or even the number of heavy guns necessary to perform counter-battery fire effectively.99 This would not have overtly concerned French. He had not adopted the ‘artillery plan’ because it was a valid and effective way of supporting Tenth Army, but simply because it allowed First Army to keep its infantry in their trenches.100 The ‘artillery plan’ was, of course, anathema to Joffre who read French’s letter with alarm. After consulting Wilson (who was seemingly working against the wishes of his own Commander-in-Chief) Joffre replied two days later.101 After reminding French of his promise to support the operations of Tenth Army, Joffre felt that:
This support can only be effective if it takes the form of a large and powerful attack composed of the maximum force you have available, executed with the hope of success and carried through to the end…
Joffre added, with perhaps a touch of menace, that ‘you are aware of the importance of the effort which the French Army is preparing’.
So where did all this wrangling leave future operations on the Western Front? Joffre’s irresistible force had met French’s immovable object. Sir John’s stubborn resistance to the details of the proposed offensive had now become a considerable stumbling biock. Yet Joffre’s determination had not wavered, especially following his dismissal of one of his army commanders, General Maurice Sarrail, on 22 July. Sarrail had long been a favourite of the Republicans and the left in France, and his dismissal, probably the result of both being perceived as a threat to Joffre and of middling ability, only added fuel to the fires of civilian–military conflict. Inevitably Millerand bore the brunt of the criticism. Amid these new storms, Joffre contacted the embattled War Minister and asked him to talk to Lord Kitchener about the intransigence of the British. As early as 30 July Joffre had written to Millerand about a scheme for putting the British temporarily under French authority, to ensure the planned attacks were properly co-ordinated.102 By mid-August it was evident to the French that unless Sir John was ordered by his own government to attack, the participation of the BEF would be at best half-hearted. But how would the British react?
By mid-August 1915 the international situation had deteriorated markedly for the Allies. Although the summer had passed quietly for the BEF – hoarding shells and absorbing the first of the New Army divisions – momentous events had taken place on other fronts. Beginning on 2 May, Gorlice-Tarnow had only been the first in a grand series of Austro-German blows that shattered the Russian armies and resulted in the virtual evacuation of Poland. Events had also turned irrevocably against the British on other fronts. By the second week of August it was clear that Hamilton’s daring attempt to outflank the Turkish positions at Suvla Bay had failed. Asquith was devastated, writing to a confidant that ‘in the whole 12 months of the war, nothing has happened comparable to this’.103 Others were equally upset. Churchill, in his typically flamboyant prose, recorded how ‘the long and varied annals of the British Army contain no more heart-breaking episode than the Battle of Suvla Bay’.104
Suvla Bay marked the final straw in the whole series of mistakes and missed opportunities that marred the entire Dardanelles campaign. With the autumn drawing nearer, which would make it more difficult to supply Hamilton’s army by sea, the Allied forces at Gallipoli had finally run out of time. As the dim echoes of Suvla reverberated around the War Office, Millerand’s request for a firm British commitment to a new offensive arrived on Kitchener’s desk. Reluctantly, therefore, the Secretary of State travelled to France on 16 August and spent three days discussing the proposed operations with both the French authorities and the BEF. When he returned to England late on the evening of 19 August, British participation in Joffre’s offensive had been guaranteed and Sir John French had been told that, whatever his previous objections, he must now ‘co-operate vigorously’ in the plans.105
Why had Kitchener abandoned his deeply held aversion to offensives on the Western Front and ordered Sir John to attack? Things seemed to have come full circle since Kitchener’s apparent triumph at Calais on 6 July This has been the subject of some speculation. In a recent article, Rhodri Williams has written that British politicians, especially Lord Kitchener, ‘acted on the basis of an exaggerated estimate of the extent of defeatism in France’.106 Central to Williams’s thesis is the role that Viscount Esher, and a number of leading French politicians, played in feeding their British contacts with information about how fragile French commitment to the war had become. French politicians and soldiers (plus most of the senior officers of the BEF, notably Robertson, Haig and Wilson) were all of the opinion that the more strength Britain deployed in France, the sooner the German armies would be defeated. In order to convince the wavering British Government ‘to concentrate its expanding military resources on the Western Front’, a ‘myth’ of French war-weariness was manufactured, which proved remarkably successful.107 Yet, as Williams and a number of other historians have made clear, public support for the war in France was actually solid and unyielding, only beginning to waver during 1917.108
While Williams’s article is a welcome study of the difficulties of Anglo-French relations during this period, it is limited. In particular, it takes too little account of the great influence and importance that Lord Kitchener placed on Russia, and neglects the more global view of the war that Britain and her Empire always had. A less Franco-centric interpretation can be found in Keith Neilson’s Strategy and Supply (1984), which offers a different view of where British strategic priorities lay. Neilson suggests an ‘alliance’ theory of British strategy, ‘one which takes into consideration the impact of Russia and the Eastern Front in particular on British planning’.109 This is largely absent from Williams’s article, but it is clear that Russia was a key cornerstone in the strategic view of Lord Kitchener.110 Although concern about French war-weariness was undoubtedly important, it seems that the crumbling state of the Russian war effort and the shock of Suvla Bay prompted Kitchener to make a renewed commitment to the Western Front. As he explained to Haig on 19 August, the Russians ‘had been severely handled and it was doubtful how much longer their armies could withstand the German blows’.111
Kitchener’s biographers are generally split over the exact reasons for his startling decision, reversing as it did his stated desire for an active defence in France during the rest of 1915. Philip Magnus’s 1958 biography stated that Kitchener was merely honouring a ‘private understanding’ reached with Joffre at Calais on 6 July.112 George Cassar’s Architect of Victory (1977) offers a more detailed portrait of Kitchener’s strategic dilemma, albeit without giving the importance of Russia much prominence. According to Cassar, Kitchener gave his support to Joffre’s offensive because, as he later informed the Dardanelles Committee, ‘he saw no other way of avoiding a fatal rupture with the French’.113 Philip Warner admits a number of possibilities, including the rather dubious assertion that Kitchener was supporting Joffre because he wished to be elevated to the position of Supreme Allied Commander, a prospect then being discussed.114 Warner’s other conclusion, that Kitchener felt Joffre’s offensive ‘offered a chance of winning a war which the British might otherwise lose’, is also doubtful. Kitchener’s statement to the Dardanelles Committee on 20 August that ‘the odds were against a great success’ throws considerable doubt upon Warner’s assertions.115 Trevor Royle’s The Kitchener Enigma (1985) supports the ‘alliance’ viewpoint, commenting that his decision was ‘due mainly to his interpretation of events on the eastern front and the Russian reaction to them’.116
The sudden reverses at Tannenberg and the Masurian Lakes in August 1914, and the heavy fighting of the following spring, had confirmed that the Russian ‘steamroller’ had most definitely been stopped. The idea that Russia might conceivably withdraw from the war was the stuff of nightmares. If Russia went, so did the Allies’ numerical superiority, and the German forces would be able to bring reinforcements back to the Western Front. Simultaneously, thousands of Austrian and Turkish forces would be free to move against the Serbians, Italians or British. Although the dramatic events on the Eastern Front may have been taking place over nine hundred miles from the corridors of Whitehall, the gravity of the situation was not lost on the Secretary of State for War. Kitchener had always been aware of Russian military might – often from the hazy view of India’s north-west frontier – and to see it so lightly torn apart was deeply distressing.117 Kitchener echoed the fear of a Russian collapse to French, telling him that ‘the Russian news is very serious. I fear we cannot rely on them for much more.118
In order to understand what impact this ‘Russian news’ had on Kitchener, it is necessary to examine the reports he received from a handful of British officers serving as attaches in the east. Arguably the most important, but certainly the most well-informed officer was the British Military Attaché in Russia, Lieutenant-Colonel Alfred Knox.119 Knox possessed an extensive knowledge of the Russian armed forces and chronicled, in some detail, how serious the problems within the Tsar’s army had become.120 On 26 May, commenting on the Austro-German drive on the south-west front, Knox gloomily reported that ‘the Russians have been driven off a line, which they had sat for four to five months, after two days’ fighting’, and noted the ‘slackness and fatalism’ of the officer corps.121 As the retreat continued the situation deteriorated further.122 By 6 June the Russian Third Army was described as a ‘harmless mob’, and in his despatch of 18 June, Knox was warning that the situation on the Eastern Front was ‘less favourable than it has been since the commencement of the war’.123 As well as severe shortages both of artillery and rifle ammunition,124 casualties had been heavy, especially among officers, for which there was a constant demand.125
With these disasters came the understandable sense of betrayal and abandonment within Russia. ‘The Russians feel’, wrote Knox, ‘that their army is being made to bear more than its fair share.’126 This sentiment only increased as the summer wore on and the inactivity of the Allies in the west became more noticeable. These misunderstandings bred ill feeling. So bad had things got that the Grand Duke Nicholas personally lectured Lieutenant-General Sir John Hanbury-Williams (Head of the British Military Mission to Russia) on ‘broken [British] promises and disappointed [Russian] expectations’ in June.127 Colonel Knox and his colleagues were also sometimes subjected to ‘unpleasant’ verbal attacks by their Russian counterparts.128 This attitude was repeatedly commented upon by Sir George Buchanan, the British Ambassador in Petrograd. On 24 July he had warned Sir Edward Grey at the Foreign Office of a severe shortage of rifles and that ‘the [Russian] public is accusing France and Great Britain of not making more pronounced effort to relieve pressure on this front’.129 ‘Until we are in a position to take a serious offensive in the west,’ Buchanan wrote on 7 August, ‘nothing will convince [the] Russian public that we are rendering Russia the assistance on which she had counted in her hour of trial.’130 Hanbury-Williams agreed, lamenting on 11 August that certain rumours and messages had been circulating, which hinted ‘that delayed action in taking the offensive there [Western Front] tended to increase the difficulties here’.131 Particularly troublesome was Russian disappointment with British arms contracts, especially with the Vickers firm, which repeatedly failed to meet targets and deadlines during this period.
Kitchener also had other sources of information. On 19 July 1915, Count Benckendorff, the Russian Ambassador in London, handed Kitchener a letter from the Russian Commander-in-Chief, the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaevich. The letter, one of only two from the Grand Duke – both from 1915 – revealed how serious the situation had become. After detailing the various directions of the German advance, the Grand Duke added that:
In view of these circumstances each action of the Allied armies which prevents the possibilities of new transports of German troops to the Eastern Front is of prime importance.132
The Duke was pressing for action on the Western Front. If the Allies had not done all they could to relieve German pressure, it was not inconceivable that peace could be made; indeed Kitchener had been warned by Brigadier-General Hon. H. Yarde-Buller (British Mission with GQG des Armées Françaises) on 24 July that if Warsaw fell, the Germans would offer peace.133 The spectre of a separate German-Russian peace haunted the Allies throughout 1915. As violence, strikes and rioting flared across Russia, vivid echoes of the revolution in 1905 resurfaced. The Acting Vice Consul in Moscow, Robert Bruce Lockhart, could offer no comfort, recording ‘a great increase of pessimism and peace talk’ in early August.134 Buchanan’s letter of 18 August only added to the gloom. As well as worrying about the general depression of the people, Buchanan commented on rumours of revolution and of a separate peace. There was also ‘a good deal of criticism’ over the inaction of the armies in the West.135
By early August, as the British were finalising plans for a renewed attack in the Dardanelles, the battered Russian forces were in crisis. The fall of Warsaw on 5 August was, in the words of one commentator, the ‘culminating tragedy’ of the whole summer campaign.136 Captain James Blair (Assistant Military Attaché) believed that the Austro-Germans could penetrate as far as they wanted into Russia, because ‘there is nothing to stop them’.137 Blair’s subsequent despatch three days later echoed this, warning that the Germans could even advance as far as Petrograd.138 Knox was equally as concerned, recording ‘terrible’ Russian losses during the fighting around Warsaw and how 5th (Siberian) Division had been ‘practically annihilated’.139 On 15 August, just before Kitchener set sail for France to see Joffre and French, another despatch from Blair arrived, commenting upon the ‘growing’ feeling that the Allies ‘were not doing all they could to assist Russia in her misfortunes’.140 But with these grim reports often came thinly veiled ideas and advice about what could be done to arrest the situation. Blair argued on 7 August that ‘a successful advance on the part of the Allies on the west would immediately alter the whole situation’, and he was not alone in this view.141 Sir William Robertson’s ‘General Staff Note on the General Military Situation’, issued in early August, also made a powerful case for attacking in the west to relieve the pressure on Russia. He concluded that the Allies must ‘take the offensive at the earliest possible opportunity’.142
These then were the reasons why Kitchener agreed to fight in France. Yet if the situation in France was not unimportant, it seems that French moral weakness did not have such a great impact on Kitchener, but rather a desire to avoid a diplomatic and military row when the international situation was so bad. At the Dardanelles Committee meeting of 3 September, Churchill pressed Kitchener ‘to discourage, by every means, the idea of the prosecution of a violent offensive in France’.143 Kitchener had simply replied that ‘if he attempted to do that it would break the Anglo-French Alliance’, adding that ‘it was not in his power to force that view’. Kitchener’s correspondence with Millerand also casts further doubt on Williams’s assertion that fear of French defeatism was the primary reason British support had been given. Kitchener wrote that:
The fine attitude of the French troops, and their excellent morale, have made a deep impression on me and I am convinced that under the skilful direction of their commanders, they will go on to victory.144
He added, tellingly, that ‘the Russian situation is making me anxious. It must be given our full consideration and I think it would be as well to reassure the Russian government, in order to prevent certain harmful influences from striving to push matters to the very worst and to bring about disunity between the Allies.’
Before the BEF could begin detailed preparations for the offensive, Kitchener’s decision had to be ratified by the Cabinet. This was done at the meeting of the Dardanelles Committee on 20 August. It was one of the saddest, yet most important conferences of the war.145 It took the first step in limiting, and then winding down, the operation to clear the Dardanelles Straits, and yet another step towards a total British commitment to the Western Front. As Rhodri Williams noted, a ‘further step had been taken towards the Somme’.146 After discussing the present operations in the Dardanelles at some length, Lord Kitchener pointed out that ‘owing to the situation which now existed in Russia he could no longer maintain his attitude, which was agreed upon in conjunction with the French at Calais [in July], viz., that a real serious offensive in the West should be postponed until all the Allies were quite ready.’147 Kitchener then added that:
There was another point unconnected with the actual strategy, and that was that trench work was becoming very irksome to the French troops, and that an offensive was necessary for the moral [sic] of the French army, amongst the members of which there was a good deal of discussion about peace.
Whether Kitchener truly believed this is unclear, but it was certainly another reason for action.148 Kitchener’s remarks were understandably unwelcome – indeed many ministers were shocked – and Churchill seems to have secured a kind of personal victory during the meeting, with his forceful and compelling arguments for a passive defence in the west. Asquith was equally disheartened, but although he was possibly the only minister with sufficient stature to stand up to Kitchener, he seems to have meekly acquiesced in the new arrangements, having too high an opinion of the Secretary of State to contradict him.149 Kitchener’s sad comment that ‘unfortunately we had to make war as we must, and not as we should like to’ summed up the British war effort in 1915. The relevant parties were subsequently informed.150
Much ink has been spilled in recent years over the origins of the Somme campaign of 1916, particularly over the extent to which British strategy was subordinated to, or independent of, the French Army.151 Regarding the Battle of Loos there is little doubt over this matter. The pressure that Britain’s allies placed upon the BEF during this period was undeniable. However much politicians in London may have agonised over where to send Britain’s New Armies and what type of operation they should be involved in, by the late summer of 1915 the worsening international situation meant that such a debate was becoming increasingly irrelevant. As has been shown, the Battle of Loos emerged as a military gesture designed to appease the fraught nerves of the French and Russian Governments, which by the summer of 1915 were beginning to falter under the stress of total war. As Basil Liddell Hart gloomily noted, Loos was an ‘unwanted battle’,152 fought against the opinions of those British officers on the ground, and originally designed more for the political balm it would give to Britain’s allies than for any tangible military gains that might result. Nevertheless, as shall be discussed in the following chapter, there were those in the BEF who felt that the coming offensive could do real damage to the German Army and, just possibly, end the war on favourable terms for the Allies.
For the British, the summer of 1915 had seen vacillation, disagreement and meagre resources stretched too thinly. As the disaster that would occur in France now began to unfold, the final vestiges of ‘business as usual’ were dismantled. Within a month of the autumn offensive in France, the first steps towards compulsory military service had been taken with the Derby Scheme, and Asquith had also successfully pressured Kitchener into instituting a proper General Staff in London, headed by Lieutenant-General Sir Archibald Murray, a committed ‘westerner’.153 And although the debate over where the British armies should fight was still bitter and divisive, it was now largely academic. British strength in France gradually increased as 1915 drew to a close. By the end of the year, with three armies in the trenches, what would become the Somme offensive of the summer had been agreed upon. But the situation for the Allies was still unsettled, and by October, with the new Briand Government in France, Alexandre Millerand – the War Minister who had worked so hard to free the army from political interference – had been outmanoeuvred and replaced. Joffre’s time was now surely running out. The great irony of the long, winding origins of the Battle of Loos was that to have been of most assistance to Russia, the battle should have taken place in late July or early August. Owing to the serious delays and political machinations the grand offensive did not actually take place until late September, when the main damage to Russia’s armed forces had already occurred.154 By this time the great retreat had ended, numerous Russian armies had reformed and the Austro-German forces were too weak to mount further attacks. As early as 31 August 1915 – barely eleven days after the British had finally decided to mount an offensive to take some pressure off Russia – Falkenhayn had begun to divert his gaze back to the west.155 Allied action had never been so badly co-ordinated or so ill conceived.